I wrap my hands around your neck with love
by UglyTruth
Summary: Without her humanity, Caroline realizes she's better off taking time off from Whitmore to escape any emotional triggers. Her road trip will have her discover the cities she's never experienced and inevitably drive her to New Orleans to set some things straight. - Post 6x18 on TVD and 2x22 on TO.
1. It won't be enough for you

_Suspecting that the Salvatores' mother is capable of turning Stefan's humanity back on, Caroline leaves before she can get emotionally triggered as well. This takes off after their encounter in the bar. Follows 6x18 and deviates slightly from the following episodes on TVD, takes all events on TO into account._

 **1\. It won't be enough for you**

Caroline is on the verge of being pissed. The fact that annoyance is a sensation that sticks around despite suppressed humanity doesn't help. She didn't think that ridding herself of emotions would be such a selective process.

Who the hell decides which feelings fit the human category anyway?

Just when she's having such a good time. She's enjoying herself, for god's sake, and none of them can see it. She hasn't caused _that_ much damage. It's been only a few days and her so-called friends are already putting all their efforts into bringing her back. As if that would be an improvement.

She scoffs, pushing the door to the residence hall a touch too hard. It gets her one or two surprised looks as the hinges rattle but she's already down the hall.

One year. All she's asking for is some freedom to do what she wants, to deal with things on her terms and they can't even allow her that. She could have really enjoyed this time with Stefan, now that they're on the same page. Well, were.

She is pretty sure Damon has gotten to him. Dragging their mom out to shock him is a smart move. She isn't even surprised about this woman being back from the dead or whatever. Nobody seems to stay dead these days.

She brushes it off. It's exceptionally nice to not be affected by something as trivial as concern for others. It was good with him while it lasted, quite the stress-relief. Now she can move onto different aspirations.

Reaching her dorm room, she barely takes note that it's empty. She figures Elena is playing nurse again and who knows what Bonnie is up to these days. She doesn't care to keep track, now that her friends have become such a hassle.

It does make the logistics easier though because there are no necks to break on the way out. She drags her suitcase out from under her bed, flipping it open. Considering it now, she should probably have done this the moment she turned it off.

Clothes fly into the suitcase, shoes into a duffel and essentials into her favourite handbag. Her passport … why not? She can always compel herself a flight to the Bahamas if she feels like it. How has this not occurred to her before?

She's not bothered with torturing unsuspecting students anymore. A couple of days in and it's getting repetitive to stick with the same people. It's obvious that she won't get to enjoy this time while her roommates are adamant to keep her contained.

Doesn't everyone take a term off to travel anyway? She doesn't have much aside from her studies that tie her down here. Not even those matter, she can always retake a year. There are really better things to do with her time.

For the sake of keeping up the façade though, she'll send an email to the coordinator when she's on the road. She will have to swap her major anyway, since the only competent theatre director in this school has lost his head. Literally.

It's a shame, she's sure she could have gotten the lead in the play even without vampire persuasion.

Caroline pauses on her way out the door, glancing at herself in the mirror. She supposes she should feel something at the sight, have a semblance of deep thought about what she's doing here and the consequences she'll face in a year. Her emotional version can stare at this image lost in thought.

But right now, she is looking into the eyes of someone else. This girl only takes time to approve the absence of evidence. She doesn't want to deal with witnesses in case someone notices her departure and blood spatters tend to stand out. Plus, she likes this dress.

Slinging her duffel over her shoulder, she leaves the dorm and heads into the light.

She wastes one more thought on Stefan as she settles into her car. Wonders if she should leave a message in case he resists the emotional bombardment. Then again, that's an unnecessary risk she isn't prepared to take for him. Or for anyone, not anymore.

If the situation in the bar ends the way she imagines, she's better off staying away. And if he really succeeds in outsmarting his brother, she has a phone. Twenty-first century perks, there's always a way to get hold of people.

Her foot pushes the accelerator towards the floor as she turns off campus and heads away from Whitmore. She could have taken some snacks for the road, she muses. There were a bunch of students around the dorms who would have done nicely.

Then again, they could have bled across her seats and she won't have that. Getting those cleaned would mean an extra pit stop.

She absently wonders why she ever worried about being a materialistic person? If that makes her shallow, she couldn't care less.

As the landscape rushes past her, she takes a moment to consider a destination. She could catch some sun in Miami. Shop her way through New York. Maybe a trip out to Chicago?

Now that she's decided dropped any pretence of worrying about her conscience or the relationships that kept her here, she sees Virginia for how boring it is. It's surprising she managed to entertain herself here until now.

When there's no more guilt to feed, the options are endless. She can drive all the way across the continent if she feels like it and then right back around. Decisions, decisions…

Heading west sounds good in any case; there are larger distances to cover before she hits the coast. Lots to see, lots of delicious throats. California, the ultimate playground for people who think they're special or just want to get away from their old lives – she's never been there either.

Glancing at her phone on the passenger seat, she notes missed calls. Elena, Elena and more Elena. The most recent one is Stefan. She's not taking that chance just yet.

She switches it off, turns up the radio and takes a left at the next intersection. 

**/**

When she makes it to Nashville in the early morning, she is dying to get her hands on some locals. Fifteen minutes of cruising and she spots a Starbucks ahead. Perfect.

She's starting to develop a taste for baristas at this point and there's literally nothing an iced latte can't fix.

She pulls into an empty parking spot, stretches languidly in her seat. Never mind the hours of driving, she likes this independence already. Her heels click against the tarmac and when she steps into the place, her eyes instantly fall on the young women behind the counter.

It's early enough so the café is close to empty and she throws the girl, most likely a college student, a smile. Caroline's gaze flicks to the nametag. Stacey.

She waits until she gets the order with her name spelled wrong – why would anyone write it with a K? - before she makes a move.

She barely needs to make an effort to compel the pretty thing to show her to the restroom. A glance around tells her everyone is still engrossed in newspapers and laptops. Then she's pushing the girl into one of the stalls with a hushed instruction to stand still and buries her teeth in the wrist.

She's not particularly ravenous but the memory of feeding with Stefan the other night flashes back before she can help herself. The way they had the human powerless, a bleeding ragdoll under her fingers. She watches the glassy expression on Stacey's face as she drinks her fill and is ever so tempted to sink her fangs into a different vein.

But her aversion to being found trumps the desire and that has her drawing back, tilting the wrist over her coffee and watching the liquid stain red. Not quite as good as straight from the body but it'll do.

She's in control and that's what she needs right now.

Stefan may have been right about letting go but she's doing it in healthy doses. A little more distance can't hurt before she lets loose. Compelling the girl to believe she cut herself by accident, she leaves a little more satisfied.

No bodies in broad daylight just yet.

She allows herself to stay in the vibrant city for a night, checks into a hotel downtown and takes a stroll through the area. The bustle calls to her, she already loves the activity here and there's music all over the place.

She hasn't been in a big city for a while. She even pays a visit to the Country Music Hall of Fame, not that she would ever admit she used to be a fan. Now, the melodies of love, sunshine and breakups sound ridiculous to her.

She's treating herself to a pre-dinner gin tonic when someone catches her eye from across the room. It's a nice bar that she opted for and she doubts the person is one to watch out for only because he is eye-stalking her.

He looks harmless enough, casual clothes and a slumped posture as he leans over the burger and fries sitting in front of him. Still, she makes a mental note.

He's not being overt but she picks up on the glances in her direction when she's looking the other way. Only ever directed at her and if she had been emotional Caroline, she would have been either flattered or creeped out by the attention.

She lets an ice cube melt on her tongue as she considers the possibilities. Just some guy who is interested? A person the Salvatores sent to keep track of her? Not that she thinks they have any actual friends outside Mystic Falls but she wouldn't put it past them. A hundred something years is a while to make acquaintances.

He could also be potential dinner but she decides a moment later that she doesn't care enough to make an effort. Her gin is more enticing. If he decides to stalk her any longer, she can still make a decision about snapping his neck or feeding.

Caroline orders another drink instead. She wants to find a place to dance tonight, maybe some rich-kid party with good alcohol or a decent concert where she can potentially fool around with a musician. Anything more intriguing than the not-so-inconspicuous-guy.

She doesn't look back when she walks out but is not all that surprised when he follows. He's careful enough, keeping his distance but she's attentive now. And she's great at that while appearing absorbed in the life on the streets.

She lets it go on for half an hour before she's annoyed enough to do something about it. So when she spots his unruly head across the road again, she picks up her pace and turns a corner.

Caroline is a fast learner and it barely takes her five minutes until she finds a fitting location. The sun is reflecting off the windows of the buildings ahead, low enough for her to know dusk is settling soon.

She dips into a side street between apartment blocks and waits patiently, holding her breath. He doesn't keep her long.

She's barely counted to thirty when he hurries past and all she has to do is grab him and toss him against the wall. She's prepared to react first when he reaches for her throat, trying to shove her backwards. A square kick delivered to his knee and he sags against the brick.

A strangled hiss escapes him, not the scream she was expecting. Vampire then, anyone else would have gotten seriously _hurt_. Judging from the rising dark veins under his eyes, he's also an angry one.

Wow, he must be even younger or at least more inexperienced than her if he didn't see the ambush coming. Maybe he's got more potential for excitement than she initially thought.

"It's much more charming to buy a lady a drink, you know," she scolds, delivering another kick to the abdomen before he can stand again, "Who are you?"

He just grimaces, hair falling into his eyes as he catches his breath. He looks like one of those permanently broke, dishevelled street artists, not the kind of obedient vampire thugs she's used to. Caroline raises her eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

He doesn't make a move to lunge back at her even though his fangs are out. She's a little confused here. What is he waiting for? No retaliation for the shattered kneecap?

Apparently he is not the impulsive kind. Or the talkative.

"I'm waiting," she reminds him.

"Jonah," he grits out, apparently determined not to look at her.

She repeats it, feeling the name on her tongue. It is cute but not enough to make her care for it. It doesn't tell her anything about him either. She lets him know that much, asking her question with just a little more threat behind the words.

"Do I even need to ask the obvious?"

"I'm just supposed to watch you, I don't know about anything else," he defends himself, eyeing her heels as though she's going to make another move to kick him, before giving her a barely veiled glare, "And to not hurt you."

"Right," she has to shake her head at that. If it wasn't obvious before, it is now. This guy has been hired to keep tabs on her and that news alone is stopping her from breaking bones again. She wants to know more, even if it's waking a new irritation.

"And who's paying you to do that, huh? A couple of friends calling in favours? No, wait, I know, it's blackmail isn't it?"

That has a strange expression sliding across his features. Slightly similar to the one the barista was wearing this morning. Deep-rooted confusion. A strange absence of mind. She's tried it enough times herself to know what memory gaps look like.

The guy isn't acting; he genuinely can't answer her question. Compulsion at its best.

"Wait a minute…" she can practically see the wheels turning until the realization hits him, "I don't think I'm getting paid."

She lets out a groan of exasperation and kicks his other leg just for the hell of it. He goes down with a yelp, but not before she snaps his neck. What an idiot.

He did give her the answer to her question though. She bends over the body and retrieves his phone and wallet. She can't have him tell on her anytime soon. For good measure, she slips his only ring - telltale blue stone set in the middle - off the limp finger and pockets it.

The sun is weakening and his body is slumped in the shadow of the wall as she walks away. He'll survive the night and tomorrow … who knows? If he's smart enough he'll notice the sunlight protection is gone, unless the compulsion included being unaware of that too.

He's not her problem anymore. That focus has shifted onto someone else.

There are only a handful of people she knows that can exert that kind of influence over her kind. A witch? Wouldn't be Bonnie, she doesn't have other people doing her dirty work like that. Silas is gone and none of their latest enemies that are still around care, so all of them can be ruled out.

That leaves the Originals and she's also quick to dismiss Rebekah and Elijah as culprits. As far as she knows the other two siblings are still dead. None of them would be remotely interested to check on what she is doing. That leaves only one.

So maybe Stefan has called the Original to ask for help. Maybe the hybrid has obliged so Stefan will be indebted to him, again. Totally possible.

But if he already has someone hot on her heels here, he must have kept watch even before she left. She must have been followed in Mystic Falls without noticing, possibly even since graduation.

That narcissistic, self-obsessed, control-freak alpha male with his superiority complexes. She should have known. Caroline has a sudden overwhelming urge to choke someone.

She should pay him a visit and tell him exactly what she thinks about being followed like she's something he owns. Another person she needs to make it clear to that she is free to do what she wants without permission or supervision, humanity on or off.

She supposes there were feelings for him before, but they're gone and now he's merely a nuisance. A dangerous one maybe, but that's beside the point.

She should probably have the good sense to be cautious but she's past that. How often did he swear he would never hurt her? Then again, if anyone from the Mystic Falls gang has briefed him, he could potentially compel her to regain her humanity.

Since she tested mind controlling someone to die of a non-existent heart attack, she has no doubts he is more than capable of doing that to her. It would take less than a second to get her emotions back, he wouldn't even break a sweat.

She rolls her eyes at the sky, realizing there is an option. Getting her hands on vervain and prudently consuming it for the next couple of days.

Is it even worth that trouble? The stuff has a disgusting aftertaste and its burn really isn't the kind she craves. She twirls the stolen daylight ring on her pinkie as she considers it. To start with, New Orleans has much nicer sights than this city.

Giving that Original a piece of her mind is tempting and maybe she can get a bit of bloodshed in while she's at it. He's done a lot of damage she can repay him for. Ruining a plan of his has great potential for a fun time and that's pretty much what she's looking for.

She'll have to dodge encountering him directly in his city, just in case he decides to use other ways to flip her humanity back on. He's creative, she knows that. But now that she thinks about it, sending a message with just the right amount of flourish has always been her thing.

She's smiling as she encloses the ring in her hand. For tonight, she'll find herself a tasty musician and a party, maybe seek out some witchy voodoo store to get her hands on the herb. Tomorrow she'll make her way down South. 

**/**

Memphis enthrals her with its rock'n'roll history and the lively vibe. Beale Street captures her in neon and leather for two nights because she wants to see everything and she finds a group of motorcyclists passing through who are happy enough to keep her entertained.

Great guys, she doesn't even need to compel them to get herself a spontaneous tour around the city. She rewards her ride with a kiss that bleeds red.

On her third day she has one of the bartenders she came across take her to a concert in a surprisingly quaint botanic garden. She sucks on his neck in the midst of the crowd, letting the Blues wash over her and revelling in the fact that nobody notices them in the dark.

He also introduces her to the local beers, which aren't even half bad. She might just develop a taste, especially when laced with blood.

She almost discards her plan to continue the trip because she really is having a good time. But she finds herself in the bartender's bed, having forced him to sleep on the couch, and stumbles across the bottled vervain in her handbag again.

She took it yesterday, is already late in keeping up with her dose. Grimacing, she takes a long sip and ignores the tears that instantly spring to her eyes.

Her fangs slide out in response and she breathes deeply against the burn. A couple more days and she will get used to taste. At the moment, it makes her uncomfortable and stings her throat. Getting tortured with it was a bitch too.

Slipping out of bed, she walks into the living room where her current choice human is passed out on the sofa. She flips on the light and takes a beat to look the young man over, noting her faint bite marks on his neck and arms.

It occurs to her that this is exactly the way she must have looked when Damon was using her. It seems lifetimes ago. A death and humanity switch later, she can appreciate the irony.

She cocks her head as he shifts in her presence and opens sleepy eyes. She supposes she should let him recover for a night but the poison has made her hungry. The thrill is back in her fingers, gums tingling.

He barely has time to blink before she's straddling his waist, smiling down at him. His expression is bleary from compulsion and it's actually a little bit endearing. She slips a finger under his chin, titling his head to face her directly.

The deep blue of his eyes reminds her of someone she really doesn't want to be thinking about right now. It's also making the burn of vervain in her mouth all the more bitter.

"Come here," she demands in a low voice, perfectly aware of the way his gaze sharpens when he realizes she's only in her underwear.

He pushes himself up, reaching for her in the same motion. She allows his hands to travel across her back and glide down to her hips before she fists her hands in the black curls and pulls his head aside.

The blood bursts onto her tongue, hot and clean. With the revitalization and the warm body pressed against her, lust begins to stir too. Why not take advantage of his eagerness? She's already planning to move on in the morning.

She only pauses once in her motions, realizing he's the first human she's had in while, considering all the supernatural beings she's been with this last year. Strange, when his kind is so wonderfully pliable. He's very good at being obedient when she wants him to.

Blue-eyes is definitely willing and ready as she takes him in and she groans at the combination of feeding and physical contact. She knows she needs to stop drinking if she wants him to live long enough to give her the pleasure she wants and so she lets him capture her lips. It's decent for all the discomfort of the couch and his lack of strength.

She can't blame him that she's gotten used to a vampire pace. That her normal night entails throwing each other into walls, trees, any surface really. That there are usually invisible scratch marks and torn clothes left as reminders.

He holds out longer than she expects and she buries her teeth in the other side of his throat as he goes tense underneath her. She doesn't even know his name but it's not important now because he moans hers so nicely. She touches herself for the last couple of thrusts and throws her head back as she reaches the point of release.

He's breathing heavily underneath her and as she licks the blood off her lips and swipes a thumb underneath his wound, she can see fear glint in his eyes. Her mind control is wearing off after a day and he can see her for what she is.

She enjoys that for a moment before she leans down and tells him to forget. He can't even form a word of resistance before he's on his back again, eyes half-lidded and blank.

She adjusts her underwear as she gets off him. Supposes that she should feed him some blood since he's looking very pale, neck is still dripping. Letting him die would be an untidier option and she wants to get some sleep before leaving in the morning.

Plus, he makes good pancakes.

She's about to trickle some of her own blood down his throat when she remembers she's on vervain now. That'll be a problem when she wants to wipe his memory.

Groaning, she takes a trip to his bathroom instead and locates the first aid kit. Stabbed herself in her own foot with this tonight but at least she got what she wanted.

He's patched up and still breathing when she finally slips under the covers, stretching across its width. Memphis is a place she may just consider coming back to. She hasn't encountered any more spies at least and aims to keep it that way.

Her plan is also beginning to take form. A couple more days and her mental resistance will be as good as it gets. She checks her phone, notes with satisfaction that the calls and messages have dropped in numbers. Even Stefan is easing off, having only sent one today.

She deletes everything without reading it.

Breathing in the crisp cleanliness of the sheets, she speculates if she'll really be bored of this within the year she demanded. So far, it's probably going to be a no. 

**/**

Next stop, Baton Rouge. She enjoys the steaks almost as much as its inhabitants. She takes some time to drive around old plantations and marvel at how extravagant the houses are. She could get used to living in one of those if she decides to move somewhere permanently.

It seems the further she heads away from Mystic Falls, the more she is greeted by music on the streets. She immerses herself in shopping here, keeping an eye out for more lurking vampires while she browses the outlets.

The shoes she gets are to die for in any case and she's damn pleased when she attracts numerous stares in the clubs that night.

On her third evening, she stays in a Casino hotel and, just as expected, finds the visitors to be very generous in buying her drinks. One particular gentleman even invites her to join him in his holiday home for the weekend but she politely declines.

Places to go, people to rile up, blood to taste.

She does accept his unknowingly offered wrist when he takes her to his hotel suite and steals one of the bourbons from the mini-bar when she leaves him passed out on a recliner.

The vervain burns less when she tips it down with the golden drink. She's perched on a bench outside and winks at an elderly couple walking past with sceptical looks.

A dolled-up girl with a near empty bottle out in the park at two in the morning. Interesting that they don't even stop to ask if she's okay. Maybe they can feel the predatory vibe and know to keep their distance. Or chivalry is really dead, as they say.

She's not hungry anymore, just in need of some excitement. She drapes herself across the bench to look at the sky, deep sparkling black like her heels. The big dipper is right over her head, seemingly almost in her reach. For some reason, blue eyes are on her mind again.

She picks out the phone from her purse, switching it on for the second time since stealing it. Her tail doesn't even have a security code, what a reckless guy. She scrolls through the contents, finding nothing. No contacts, messages or pictures, it's practically a new phone.

The screen lights up in her face as two unopened messages appear, both sent on her first day in Memphis. An unknown number but based on the content, it's not hard to guess.

07:42. _You were supposed to report back._

10:18. _One hour before your friend will be missing a heart._

If that doesn't sound like someone she knows all too well. Keeping updated on her is apparently worth someone's heart. Very poetic.

If the guy from Nashville has any sense he will have gotten the hell away before his heart goes missing too. Then again, apparently he is now down a friend as a result of her interference.

She knows Klaus keeps promises.

She's about to head back into the city nightlife when another form catches her attention. A gorgeously dark-skinned girl is heading along the path to her right. She's sixteen at best and moving quickly, easily although she's in heavy boots.

Caroline doesn't care much to move until eyes flick in her direction and she can see them directly reflecting the light of street lamp beside her. An animal's eye to go with the animal motions.

A smile grows on her lips as she places the aura she's getting off the girl. Werewolf. How convenient. She's only mildly curious about how the gene could have been activated at such a young age. More importantly, this one is the first non-human she's come across in a while.

She swings her legs over the bench, standing up in one fluid motion. Alcohol is making her reckless and this really seems like an excellent idea.

"Hey, wait a second."

The girl doesn't bother stopping, continuing to move away from her. If there's one thing she is absolutely not down with, it's being ignored. Caroline Forbes does not get ignored.

She's in front of the she-wolf in a flash and gets the satisfaction of seeing her startle. Already giving away that she has experience with vampires or she would be gaping and taking off right about now.

"Hi," she repeats, putting on her best smile, "I really love your jacket."

The smaller girl's features are stoic, eyes narrowed back at her. She tugs on the fake leather coat in response, nonchalance hiding her wariness.

"Thanks," she replies, already trying to brush past her. Caroline takes another step back, right in her path until the brunette has to stop and snap, "What?"

"You've also got a pretty neck," she surmises, keeping eye contact intensely enough that she knows she's creeping her out, "I don't think I've tasted wolf before."

She's played her cards; there is no delusion possible here. Her statement has dark eyes widening before involuntarily glancing up at the sky. Caroline already knows that the moon is far from being full.

Both of them are counting two and two together and figuring that one of them has no chance tonight. She is just about to offer the girl a head start when the wolf bolts, sprinting back towards the city.

She enjoys this situation; the unusual circumstance that her prey knows exactly what she's capable of and can do nothing about it. The blonde chuckles and takes a moment to down the rest of the bottle and dump it before flashing after her.

The girl is barely ten yards away from the road when she snatches her. She hears the crack of a dislocating shoulder as she wrenches her backwards. Her hand closes over the girl's mouth just as she tries to open it to scream, using her other hand to hold the jaw closed. She doesn't fancy a wolf bite to end her journey now.

Thankfully the girl isn't anywhere near full strength and so the squirming and kicking does her little good as Caroline digs her fangs into her neck.

It's definitely different. A far cry from the filling sweetness of human blood, a much more feral taste than vampire blood. Not to even mention hybrid blood, which seems to have gotten the best elements of everything.

No, damn it, she is not thinking about that right now.

She only has a couple of gulps before the aroma becomes too overwhelming and she tosses the girl aside. Smudges of alcohol are also running in those veins and interfering with the taste, somehow more acidic. It's definitely not her thing.

Equally furious and frightened brown eyes stare up at her as the wolf scrambles to her feet. Harsh breaths fill the air and she presses a hand to the wound. Her other arm is limp, she's shaking with suppressed pain.

The girl's expression betrays undiluted hatred and that almost compensates for the fact that her blood has chased away the lovely taste of bourbon. Caroline simply wipes her mouth and flicks her hair over one shoulder.

"Well. I really expected that to be better. Seriously, even rabbit beats that. And what do I do with you now? I guess killing you might still make up for it."

Her dissident has the good sense to not run again. No weapon, no way to call for help, nobody walking this way at this hour, she's just biding her time. Caroline keeps her in that suspense for several heartbeats, contemplating before snapping to attention.

She has an idea, one that could potentially guarantee her anonymity for much longer.

"Do you have a car?" she asks.

It's out of the blue and the wolf is definitely taken aback.

"What…I…" she is confused now, taking another step back with her eyes still darting around in search for aid, "Can't you just let me go? You got what you wanted."

"I don't think you heard my question," she repeats, sugar-sweet smile turned on the younger girl and advances again.

The brunette matches her with backwards steps but her expression is clearly one of being driven into a corner. Of course, it's dangerous to trust a vampire but there aren't many options. She will either snap and do something reckless or give in to save her skin.

Judging from the way the wound is still leaking blood, it will be the latter. Apparently her healing isn't up to par without the moonlight either.

The girl finally stumbles to a halt when she notices the tree cutting off the escape behind her. She holds up her free hand.

"Yeah, okay, I have a car. It's parked downtown. Just … stop."

Instantly, the smile grows wider on Caroline's face. She really makes a great actress; maybe she should put that to professional use somewhere on her trip. She places her hands on her hips as the wolf looks at her in a mixture of anger and defeat.

"Great. A car for a life, I think that sounds fair. Where exactly?"

It takes another threatening show of fangs until the girl grits out the location. She can tell that the young girl is itching to dig teeth into her fingers as she holds them out for the car keys. Grudgingly, she tosses them with the good arm, the other one still hanging heavy.

"Make sure you keep this our little secret. I don't want to come looking for you," Caroline grins as she steps aside to let her through.

The girl doesn't need to be told twice. She walks a wide arc around her, keeping a careful eye on her movements as though she doesn't trust her to keep her word. Definitely fighting instincts to pounce on her too.

Caroline can almost pretend she's offended but she's too amused. That kid would be stupid to think she's being genuine but the feebleness of this usually so dangerous creature is really satisfying.

She doesn't move from her spot and holds the eye contact. Only when there's already an entire road between them, does the girl turn away and break into a hobbling run.

She doesn't get far. Caroline is on her heels before she can hit a main road. The wolf senses are alert enough to notice and she's already half-turning in realization when the blonde appears in front of her, practically tasting the adrenalin.

She pulls the younger girl's head around at an angle, listening to the sound of a cracking spine. The body crumples at her feet. She can't compel a werewolf and won't allow witnesses, that simple.

Maybe it's a paranoid move but she's always been a fan of control and right now, she doesn't need news getting around of her presence here. The kid was far too easy to play with anyway.

"Nothing personal," she tells the corpse as she pushes her into a nearby dumpster, "Thanks for the car though."

The key tells her it's a Ford. Not half bad, she can work with that. Pulling out her own phone, she searches for the place and heads in the direction she came from earlier.

If she'd let her run, the girl would have gotten back-up or spread the news and she doesn't need to stick around for that. One little wolf is fine; a bunch of them are an issue, especially if they decide to bring stakes.

She ignores the appreciative looks at her outfit this time round as she walks into town. She's not interested in partying anymore. She's here to collect her prize.

As it turns out, it's a dark blue Fiesta with only one or two dents on the back. Obviously someone failed to park properly. Considering the girl looked around her mid-teens, it makes sense that her first car is a small calibre.

Even so, it's a different model from hers and, most importantly, not a giveaway number plate. That rules out finding her through her car. Even if this one is reported missing at some point, she can deal with human police officers in no time.

Checking the road one more time for followers of any sort, she gets in.

She's satisfied as she heads back to the hotel. Packing and checking out takes her twenty minutes before she's on the road, leaving her own car behind. Digging into the salted peanuts that the hotel staff was so kind to throw in, she steers onto the highway.

It's when she passes the sign that says she has eighty miles to go that a smile spreads across her face. She's ready to cause some real trouble.


	2. I'm the devil in disguise

**2\. I'm the devil in disguise**

It's another early morning when she arrives in New Orleans. She's a bit aimless for the first five minutes before deciding to head to the place that will probably give her what she's looking for. University campus.

Lots of people aka lots of opportunities for a meal, plus she can find herself a place to stay that doesn't require money or personal details this time. She follows the GPS directing her to Tulane and is almost impressed by the architecture of the main buildings. Whitmore is practically a shed compared to this.

Not that she would ever trade her dorm but the campus here engulfs her with a very different flair, despite its lack of students at the moment. She is quick to locate the nearest coffee shop and grabs a cappuccino.

Thankfully, being undead saves her from looking terrible after going a night without sleep. A glance at the clock in the back tells her its barely past seven. No wonder the halls are so empty.

The barista doesn't really strike her fancy either so she waits, flipping through a magazine, until the first students start trudging into the place.

Once they start coming though, it's like a flood. Caffeine-deprived humans barging into the place before their morning classes and she rolls her eyes. These people aren't that different from her when she's craving blood and yet she is the one being condemned for it. Some of them look like they also haven't been sleeping for a while. No doubt the science nerds.

She hasn't even gotten halfway through the celebrity gossip when someone sits down at her table. She tips down the magazine to flick her eyes across the person.

Short and dark-haired, the girl is coordinating between sipping her steaming coffee and scribbling notes on printouts. She barely seems to notice Caroline sitting there.

She's about to dismiss this workaholic and search for someone else when the girl looks up and catches her eye. There's a flash of embarrassment that crosses her face and she's instantly apologizing.

"Sorry, is it okay that I sit here?"

"No problem," Caroline supplies as she leans closer to fix her gaze on the other girl, drawing her into compulsion, "And while you're at it, you can tell me who you are, where you live and what you know about vampires."

The girl blinks slowly at her, a flicker of confusion on her features before she goes still and replies, "I'm Keira Donoghue, I'm sharing an apartment with my friend on Gravier Street and I don't know anything about vampires. New Orleans has a lot of legends about witches and supernatural stuff, if that's what you mean."

She has to smile at that.

It's almost going too well, a perfect start to her stay. What better cover than a private flat? Apparently Mystic Falls really is the only place where just about half the population knows about vampires and takes vervain precautions.

Then again, if those people don't suspect anything after all the stunts pulled by the supernatural creatures in the area, they deserve to get drained. Just like this one.

But she won't take the girl's life just yet because she's coming in useful at the moment. Instead, she tucks her hair behind one ear and leans closer.

"Perfect. You know what, I think you should invite me to stay with you for the week. You can introduce me as an old friend from high school," she suggests, before her tone drops to a barely veiled demand, "Why don't you give me your key and I'll drop by later?"

She finishes her coffee as Keira rummages in her bag without complaint, hands over the key and notes down the address for her. She leans in one more time and commands her to forget the vampire questions before continuing her way across campus.

That girl is doing her a favour, so she'll let her off the hook for today. She wants someone feistier to have for breakfast.

The sun is already hot against her bare arms as she meanders along the buildings, straight through the students making their way to classes. She takes one long look around before focusing on a single guy who is leaning against a wall ahead of her.

The ripped jeans and bandana are so purposefully careless, it's almost too cliché. He seems unconcerned with being on time for lectures, dragging on a cigarette. Just the kind of person she was hoping to find.

"Hey," she greets him as she heads closer.

A turn of the head and he's not even subtle as he looks her up and down, "What's up?"

"You look like you'd up for a little fun," she cuts to the chase, stopping just a breath away.

He really has to be a moron to mistake the look she's giving him. He has the audacity to not look surprised but grins at her suggestion, easily catching on to the connotation. She may have just found herself the campus bad boy and inwardly smirks at the situation. Trust her to pick out the one that's furthest away from a nice guy.

"What d'you have in mind?" he drags one more time before tossing the stump aside.

"An empty room," she holds the gaze and this time his eyes widen just a little.

Apparently he hasn't been come onto this hard before. Or maybe not at this time in the morning. She doesn't say any more, waiting for him with a raised brow. Evidently deciding that she's not messing with him, he nods his consent and leads her into the nearest building.

Fifteen minutes later, she's back in her car and heading downtown. The guy didn't even have the time to remove any clothing before she had her teeth in his neck.

She was more than happy to burst his bubble on what she was going to do to him. He tried to feel her up the entire way, so she figures she did the college a favour by removing him.

He wouldn't quite fit into the trashcan so she just left him on the floor. For about a second she considered the people having a class in that room later but then again, it's such a nice change from routine to find someone in a pool of blood from their own neck.

Makes for good rumours on campus too – maybe a jealous ex-girlfriend could have committed the murder.

He happened to have some cash on him, which she plans to put to good use in the boutiques she sees ahead. She also needs to get her hands on some information that she's quite sure she won't find in the phonebook. According to her online research, the French Quarter is the supposed to be the hunting ground of the witches.

She figures, from experience, that the rumour is not far from the truth. If she's going to start looking somewhere, she might as well do it here.

If the Mikaelson siblings are still in this city, then the witches will definitely have been the first group that they pissed off and she intends to use that to her advantage.

Caroline takes the stolen phone out of her handbag as she walks, switching it on one more time. No new messages. She saves the unknown number in her own contacts just in case, before tossing the device into the nearest bin. Then an immensely cute blue dress catches her attention and she heads over the road, ducking into a store.

She's already out of money when she makes it to Bourbon Street. Stuffing all the bags into the largest one, she frees one hand to take out her own phone as it vibrates. It's not Elena or Stefan for a change but she frowns at the caller ID anyway.

Damon only ever calls her when he wants her to be a distraction or needs help in another insane plan. He should know that she's way past that. She lets it ring and makes her way through the masses.

Apparently it's tourist season because she can barely push through the amount of people here. Blowing a strand of hair away from her face, she decides it's late enough for a drink anyway and ducks into the nearest bar on her side of the pavement.

Witch interviewing can wait, she wants something alcoholically potent with just the perfect amount of ice.

Dark panelling, red lamps and the taste of liquor in the air – she's definitely come to the right place. She can pick up the scent of shrimp sizzling in the kitchen and doesn't need to see the menu to know what she's having. Slipping onto a stool, she drops the shopping at her feet and searches for the bartender.

Since it's just past midday, there isn't too much activity and the waitress serves several drinks in the far corner before making her way over to Caroline at the bar. Stepping behind the counter, she throws a small smile at the vampire.

"What can I get you?"

"Gin Tonic," she indicates the bottle on the shelf behind the woman, "And the grilled shrimp."

The blonde gives her a measuring look before switching to a more professional tone. "I'll need to take a look at some ID first, please."

She just has to laugh at that. She can't remember being asked to prove her age since junior year. Not that there has ever been an issue getting her hands on alcohol when there were a number of older kids willing to provide. But since becoming a vampire this kind of question is practically non-existent.

"I don't think so," she raises her chin, fixing the other blonde with a stare that should put her under mind control instantly, "You heard my order."

The bartender shakes her head decisively, an unnerved look crossing her face. "I'll have to insist. You can get the food but we're strict on drinking here."

That takes her aback because the compliance she expected isn't happening. Either she is suddenly slacking off in her compulsion or there is vervain involved here. She leans back as well. Then she sighs in defeat, reaching into her bag to retrieve the wallet and tossing the driver's licence onto the polished wood.

It's when the woman reaches over to take a look that she darts forward and grabs her forearm, hard enough to feel the bone. She watches the features contort in pain before wide eyes snap to hers. She smiles back, keeping the human from pulling away.

"Here's the thing. If you know what I am, then you should also know that denying me something won't end well for you," she squeezes for good measure, "And I think you should get me my drink on the house before it gets messy in here."

She listens to a couple of more panicked heartbeats from the bartender before she lets go, reclaiming her ID while she's at it. The blonde quickly backs away, rubbing her reddened arm and never tearing her eyes off Caroline.

She finally complies though, tossing ice cubes into the glass and sliding the drink across the bar with just a little too much force.

"You're not from here," she remarks in a much cooler voice.

"Correct," Caroline downs the contents in one go, thirsty now that her blood has started heating up. She's about to dismiss the blonde so that she can relay her order to the kitchen when another thought occurs to her. The stiffening of the bartender's hands is all the indication she needs when she adds, "On second thought – put that on the Mikaelson tab."

Bingo. Who knew there was information to be found in a nondescript bar like this?

Somehow, this woman must also have gotten a heads up about the Originals being here. Right now, she's giving away more than she probably thinks just with her body language.

"There is no open tab, they always pay cash," is the curt response and there is just that hint of a challenge in the statement, which makes Caroline wonder why this woman cares. It's definitely not fear lacing her words, rather some sort of defensiveness.

"They won't mind. Next time they drop by, just add mine to the bill," she suggests.

The human looks ready to keep arguing but thinks the better of it, walking over to the kitchen. Caroline keeps an eye on her as she continues her round of the room, collecting menus and refilling glasses for the locals. She supposes she could threaten a little killing spree to get the woman talking.

Then again, it seems she doesn't need to because when she asks for a refill, the bartender starts the conversation of her own accord. She doesn't look up from pouring tonic water into the tumbler.

"So how do you know that family?"

"They came into my home town and wrecked some lives," she toys with an ice cube while she keeps her eyes on the human, "And you?"

Her answer doesn't seem to have any shocking effect. In fact, it's like the words go right through without registering.

"Like I said, they come here occasionally," she puts it off with a shrug but Caroline doesn't miss the way she focuses on everything but her.

"You have no idea how much I'd enjoy compelling it out of you," she leans over the bar, pushing her emptied glass aside, "Or bleeding it out of you."

That gets the human's attention back. Her head snaps up and she locks gazes with her. Her voice is low when the word slips off her tongue. Like she'd fool her with playing dumb at this point.

"What?"

"What you really know," Caroline states the obvious, "I think I should start snapping some necks in here until you tell me something useful."

There is a tiny hitch of breath at that. She's putting the pretty bartender at a crossroad, giving her the not so free choice between betraying information and having blood on her hands, figuratively at least. Even so, she expected a more elaborate reaction. It's like she has already seen enough horror to make this threat sound nowhere close to extreme.

"I think you should leave," is the answer she gets before the bartender moves away to serve another customer.

Caroline raises an eyebrow. Evidently she isn't taking her seriously enough. She is about to prove exactly how willing and capable she is to commit murder in broad daylight to make her point when the shrimp arrives.

Pleasures first then, she decides as the smell of the freshly grilled seafood hits her. She keeps her awareness open as she digs in, taking note when the blonde leaves for a bathroom break and another colleague takes her place serving the tables.

Calling for back-up? Warning a certain family of her presence? If they are aware that she's here, it will probably ruin all the fun. She knows her control-freak is emerging but doesn't bother reining it in as she rises from her chair.

When she opens the door to the restroom she really isn't surprised to see her source of information texting. She barely has time to open her mouth before Caroline snatches the phone, looking at the content.

 _A girl at the bar is asking about you. I think she's trouble._

The message doesn't bother her as much as the recipient. Why the hell does she have Klaus' number? Even so, she grinds her teeth at the fact that the warning has already been sent. The damage is done. She fixes annoyed eyes on the human who is looking back defiantly, this time with the right amount of fear.

The blonde's voice is hard though when she tells her, "He'll be here any minute."

Caroline highly doubts that.

"What are you, his little spy?" she mocks.

"I look out for him," the other blonde bites back and she just can't help but throw back her head to laugh at her. God, this woman sounds so pathetically protective of the most dangerous creature on earth, it's beyond ironic. Then again, it also makes her think of the way she once felt something for him too. That reminder just pisses her off.

"Too bad he doesn't do the same for you," she hisses, releasing her fangs.

Before the human can open her mouth to yell, she knocks her head back against the wall, effectively dazing her. Then she sinks her teeth into the skin of her neck, tearing deep and feeling the body tense under her hands.

There's the sharp taste of vervain and adrenalin in that blood and, to her surprise, a hint of vampire. She groans inwardly and draws back. Vampire blood inside her body, now that's an issue she's not pleased with.

If she drains this human, she will return as a vampire and that would make her an even more stubborn irritation. She settles for slamming the pretty head against the wall one more time and lets her slide to the ground, unconscious.

With a huff, she fixes her clothes and licks the blood off her lips. Time to get going, she will have to save the questions for another day.

She does take a look through the unconscious one's phone before she leaves, realizing that all the siblings' numbers are saved. So she really is some kind of ally, or at the very least a trusted minion of sorts.

That complicates things and it confuses her. Why would they have a human confidante here? She makes a mental note of the name and to search out the according registered address. Camille O'Connell needs to watch her back.

 **/**

Her fake friend from high school days is home when she arrives with all her bags. It takes a second where the girl looks slightly confused at her intrusion before lighting up and insisting she helps with the luggage.

"Is your flatmate here?" she asks as the brunette leads her to a room decked out in dark furniture with the most tasteless neon sheets that Caroline has ever laid eyes on. Those will have to go.

The girl shakes her head as she deposits the things on an armchair in the corner.

"No, Joanne is still working, she let me in earlier. She's got a job at this ice cream place where…"

"You can stay in her room, right?" Caroline turns her eyes on the student, who nods her compelled agreement, "So the story is that I'm taking a gap year and going on a road trip. We both know each other from high school – where did you go again? Fine, so we know each other from there, had two classes together and a mutual friend or something. Got it?"

Another nod. She could drink her dry her just out of satisfaction at this point. It's nice to see that compulsion is still effective on regular people. Instead, she walks out to explore the rest of the apartment, a simple two-bedroom layout with the living room and kitchen mashed into one area.

It's small but with a lot of potential, if only the girls knew how to decorate. She wrinkles her brow at the colour palette. Good thing this is temporary.

At least the fridge is properly stocked. They have the right amount of beer and wine to not bring shame to their reputation as college kids. It isn't exactly Salvatore whisky but this is supposed to be the phase in her life where cheap alcohol choices always end badly and nights are never over without some drama. It's normal and she is technically still a student. Why not make the most of it?

"Okay," she turns to Keira again, "Most importantly, we are going out tonight. I need some stress relief. Get some people together."

"I actually have a class tomorrow morning," the petite girl points out and Caroline could slap her for the innocent earnest way in which she says it. If this is a studious household, she may just have to kill these two for being boring.

Caroline simply looks at her. "Call up some people. I'm taking a shower."

"Hey…" the confusion in the girl's voice has her pivoting around one more time, sizing up the human, "Do I … even know your name?"

Ah. That's the part she's failed to mention. She puts her hands on her hips, her patience wearing thin after today's events.

"It's Caroline and now stop asking questions. Just make something up as you go. We're friends from high school, remember?"

That is exactly the question that Keira's flatmate asks three hours later, when they are sitting at the kitchen table with open wine.

She is strangely similar to Bonnie in some respect; at least with that bob cut she has going on and that same self-righteousness that the witch back home carries around with her. This one is studying some foreign language though and is a very average Ohio-native, definitely no witchy aura.

"So you're taking time off to travel?" not-Bonnie asks, sipping a beer.

Behind her, Keira is chatting with two other girls and a pair of guys that are evidently twins. Somewhat attractive ones too, Caroline notes with satisfaction. She has her party crowd together and it's obvious from the expression on the girl opposite her that she doesn't believe her flatmate was the one to suggest going out.

"Uh huh," Caroline grins and helps herself to some crackers, thinking about her conversation partner's blood, "Texas will be the next stop."

"Do you know someone there as well?"

"A cousin," she answers vaguely, throwing a look over the human's shoulder at the mirror beside the front door. She looks really good tonight. She's especially proud of having gotten that blue dress earlier. Maybe she won't need the bed with its terrible sheets tonight after all if she plays it right.

Slipping off the kitchen chair, she joins the group in the living room. She is going to need more drinks if these people are supposed to make a decent group to be having fun with. She expected the New Orleans crowd to know how to party on a Thursday night.

Good thing she managed to snatch an open bottle of Tequila when she left the bar earlier. Something to compensate for the fruitless interrogation.

"Shots," she declares, passing out glasses and ignoring refusals. The saltshaker follows and she even finds a lemon in the fruit basket.

An hour and an empty bottle later, she knows they are ready. The guys are suggesting a karaoke bar while the not-so-enthusiastic flatmate wants to head to a bar around the corner. The other girls are torn between singing and dancing so she decides they have to find a place with the potential for both.

They end up in _The Famous Door_ and she feels generous enough to buy a round. None of them are objecting anymore at this point and the band is just good enough to make her want to dance. She drags her mock high-school friend to the floor, moving straight into the centre of the packed area. She's not one for the sidelines.

The human is drunk, practically believes the story they're telling by now and she wraps an arm around Caroline when she stumbles on her heels, laughing at her own clumsiness.

Keira's throat is too deliciously close for a moment and she feels her eyes darken before one of the other friends is spinning the smaller girl around for a dance.

She turns away to find herself against the chest of one of the twins. She grins at his surprised step backwards and snakes an arm around his neck, moving in time with him. She's really feeling the bloodlust now, rushing through her just like his wrist is pulsing against her waist.

She's hypersensitive all of a sudden, really aware of her surroundings. She could do it, right here under the flashing lights to the beat of great music. She thinks of Stefan and his blood-dripping mouth telling her to let go.

There's something she wants to do before she gets her hands dirty though. Caroline spins away from the guy and heads through the crowd towards the stage. The band has just drawn out the last chords of the previous song, when she walks up to the singer, stares him in the eye and demands a microphone.

If she were still emotional at this point, this would be a very nostalgic moment. Up on stage, singing a song about love. Almost too bad Matt and Tyler aren't here now, they were the ones she sang for in the old days.

When he hands the device to her and she places herself centre stage to face the mass of bodies, she can't help the smirk.

She knows that she's gorgeous, dressed in a smashing outfit and she can sing the hell out of this song, emotions or not. It's a classic, she's done it countless times before and Roxette always gets the people in the mood.

Especially since this bar is pretty heavy on songs from the past century. When the band gets to the chorus, the chants from the crowd match her voice, ringing through the room just as she is through the speakers.

 _It must have been love. But it's over now._ Oh yes, it's definitely way over.

There is slow swaying below her, a number of phone flashlights are waving through the air and she sees kissing couples through the dimness. It draws her gaze back to the twins standing by the bar.

Maybe she'll go home with both of them tonight, feed on each one and find out if there's a difference in taste. She ducks her head with a grin before the thoughts drive her over the edge to showing her true face.

She hums the last notes into the mic before stepping away and there's clapping down below, drinks being offered by strangers as she steps off the stage. There's a rush of nostalgia to a very different time, when she did this in the Grill to profess her affections. She meant her words then.

She shakes the memory off just as quickly as it came, accepts all the shots people want to buy her instead. Her group comes over, cheering and babbling that she's so brave to just get up there and sing in front of all these people.

She loses them to the masses after a while, diving into the spinning of lights. It's a long night and a promising one, she's determined not to waste it remembering old times. When she finally takes a minute from the dancing to look around, she can't spot the humans anymore.

Possibly because it's past four in the morning and by their standards she'd be getting tired. Not that she particularly cares that they're gone. It frees her up to grab whomever she wants from this place without having to deal with people pretending to be friends.

Another man offering her a drink gets the reward of being pulled into the corner behind the stage. He kisses her and she softens into it for a moment before pulling back, letting her face transform as she focuses on his jugular.

"Woah, hey," she hears him say before she's coming down on the vein and the next thing she knows there's a splitting pain in her skull and she's losing control of her limbs, sinking down on her heels.

No, no, damn it! How did she not realize she had a witch standing in front of her? She's not even that drunk. Groaning, she tries to lift her head and is rewarded with more searing agony in her head.

She has enough sense of her body to reach out and clamp a hand around his ankle, pulling hard. The lapse in balance has him tumbling against the wall behind them and the spell loses its effect for a second.

She has that split moment to make a decision – kill, leave or negotiate. After all, she has been looking for a witch today.

So when he raises his hand to her again, she holds hers up in surrender and leans away. She didn't even manage to bite him, he's really overreacting. But she needs to get him talking.

The apology is strange on her tongue but she says it anyway, eyes wide and beseeching, "Sorry! I'm sorry. I won't do anything. I thought you were human."

That catches him off guard. She doesn't know what the vampires are like in this city but ventures to guess they're apparently not big on apologies. They don't seem to be the kind to go easy on witches after having been given splitting headaches either.

He stares at her for a few moments but keeps his hand up, seeming to debate whether or not to hear her out. She braces herself for another wave of exploding nerve endings.

"You're not from here," he says slowly and pushes himself up against the wall.

She really wonders what is giving her away. First the Camille girl and now this guy. Maybe it's the lack of an accent. Or the fact that she's taking liberties that nobody else seems to.

She takes his conversation starter as a good sign and also rises slowly, dusting off her dress. If she'd torn it in this encounter, he would have definitely lost his head. So far so good though, it looks like only her hair is mildly out of place. She puts on a disarming smile under the flashing lights.

"I'm not. But I'm looking for someone. Maybe you know where I can find him."

His eyes narrow, instantly suspicious again. "And why should I help you, vampire?"

They really are a wary bunch over here. Then again, she supposes that the Mystic Falls gang stopped asking that question because everyone knew they'd get nothing out of it, at most their life. They stopped gaining anything personal a long time ago.

So what can she offer this guy that will make him cooperate?

She raises her head defiantly. "Because I'm planning to make this person pay for a lot of things and if my guess is correct, your kind will be more than happy about it. Or has Klaus Mikaelson suddenly turned into a good guy?"

The darkening of his expression is just what she's been searching for. Maybe tonight will turn out better than she has been hoping. It seems her gamble is paying off because when she asks him to take a walk with her, he doesn't decline.

She's found her source after all.


	3. I quite enjoy my obsessions

**3\. I quite enjoy my obsessions**

Caroline is reeling from all the information when the witch leaves. He was secretive and biased enough that she's pretty sure she still got a limited version of recent events. The drama in this city is so immense; she could never have pictured it.

She doesn't even know if it's the things that he told her or just the fact that she isn't up to date on them. She is _always_ informed on what's happening in people's lives and that all of this just went right past her – okay, when they left she had no reason to keep track – is shocking.

At least the news of a goddamn baby should have made the rounds as far as Mystic Falls. As though Klaus is capable of raising a _child_.

She's barely absorbed the fact that there's an ongoing war between vampires and Originals, vampires and werewolves, vampires and witches – basically it's everyone against everyone amongst the species here and she's not even surprised.

It's more information than she bargained for but that doesn't matter. In fact, it makes her all the more confident in her ability to get the hybrid riled up, if he's already dealing with all of this chaos.

She watches the sun colour the sky as it rises behind the buildings. There's her first all-nighter in New Orleans. She was going to head to the apartment and change into something more appropriate for inconspicuous movement but now she's too eager to start.

She's wasted no time in finding out the human's address yesterday and the internet was all too helpful. It was easy enough to get the location and as it turns out there are numerous articles on how the blonde's twin brother went on a crazy killing spree. If that isn't an ironic touch, since she is fraternizing with the biggest killer that Caroline knows.

The witch didn't know anything about the bartender but by now she's convinced this woman has some connection to the Original family and so she's certain it'll work out fine. Getting off the bench, she starts walking back towards the Quarter.

She doesn't even need to ring the bell; one of the tenants is leaving the building just as she arrives. A quick glance at the names on the mailbox tells her she's in the right place.

Caroline gives the man a winning smile before catching the door. One flight of stairs and she's in front of the apartment she's been looking for. Time to test how far she can get here.

Not bothering to knock, she breaks right through the lock as quietly as she can and nudges the door open. Look at that, the human even fastened it with the chain. Someone's paranoid. Not that this kind of security works against her kind.

She rips the feeble metal apart and takes a step forward, finding herself crossing the threshold with no resistance. Oh wow, this is actually too easy. It seems whoever rents out this apartment is either conveniently dead or a vampire.

She wouldn't put it past Klaus to make sure his human lackeys live in places he owns, just in case. She smirks and strides across the carpet.

It's quite early for the human to be up and unless she's got another early shift day job Caroline doesn't know about, she should be asleep. She's pleased to find her guess proven correct when she reaches the bedroom and finds a limp form under the covers.

She slips out of her shoes – no need to be waking her up earlier than necessary with those heels against the hardwood.

Duct tape is easily located because thankfully this is a normal household that has everything one could need for hostage holding. She would have asked the neighbours but this just saves her time. Then she's carrying a kitchen chair into the bedroom, placing it in front of the bed.

She's also stumbled across a snack in the fridge and helps herself to the red velvet cake. Topped with cream cheese, how extravagant. Perching on the chair, she watches the human in her unconscious state for a bit, licking the crumbs off her fingers.

It's a cute place, small but much nicer than the one she's compelled herself. Maybe she'll move in here once she's done with Camille O'Connell. Speaking of - the alarm clock on the bedside table indicates 06:50 and starts blearing radio tunes.

There's a twitching of eyelids and an automatic movement to shut off the sound. It takes another full minute before the bartender manages to roll over and actually open her eyes. Only to let out a sharp gasp when she sees the intruder.

Caroline smiles back at her, rising from her seat as the human scrambles for a weapon in the drawer of her bedside table. She's got her wrists clamped in her hands before the woman can even get near her with any wooden objects.

"I was expecting more of a: good morning, can I offer you breakfast?" she chides, dragging her over to the chair, "Don't worry, I helped myself."

The blonde is just starting to scream for help when Caroline slaps a piece of duct tape across her mouth, one hand pressed against her shoulder to keep her on the seat.

There's violent kicking from the human that might have caused some damage if she weren't so quick to heal. Vampire speed comes in handy when trying to fix someone to a chair while also preventing the person from running away.

She's used up half the roll of tape when the struggling is finally minimized to straining against the bonds.

"There we go," she steps back to take a look at her handiwork. That's another possible career right there - professional gift-wrapping. "So, since you can't talk right now, I'll explain what's happening here."

She walks around the gagged blonde into the kitchen only to return with a knife. Blue eyes go wide and she enjoys the expression for a moment before setting the record straight.

"I'm not going to stab you to death, relax. I'll just need to bleed you out enough so I can compel you to do something for me. I'd ask you the normal way but it's not the kind of thing you'd say yes to if you're sane."

She leans in, dragging the blade down the immobile wrist and watching the gash burst with red. That's almost got her hungry but she contains it. If she feeds, she might kill her after all and she wants this to go just the way she planned.

The blood collects on the floor and she's fascinated, watching the frustration on her captive's face as she fights between struggling against her bonds and relaxing enough to minimize the blood loss. She yelling something but the tape is stiff enough to block it, muffling the volume.

When the puddle has reached a decent size, Caroline locates the cell phone on the bedside table and rings an ambulance.

She would have done the blood transfusion herself but then there's all that hassle of finding clean needles and blood bags and she would have had to get her non-existent doctor skills on. She trusts the hospital to be competent enough.

Camille is slacking, breathing shallow now. She checks her watch. It's been a few minutes and at this time of day, medical services are bound to make good time on the roads. So she starts removing the tape and lets the paling woman slide to the floor so she can put the chair back in the kitchen. It will have to look somewhat convincing after all.

She'll fabricate some story of Camille wanting to chop something up for breakfast and slipping, trying to make her way to the bedroom to ring help, all of that. She presses a hand against the wound, drawing a strangled cry from the bartender. It stems the flow enough to make it seem convincing that she is trying to save her life.

There are one or two attempts to call for help again but Caroline simply clamps a hand over her mouth, effectively blocking any efforts. She's weakening quickly and seems to register that she needs to stop trying if she doesn't want to pass out.

Two minutes tick by and she's just getting a little concerned about the colour of the bartender's face when she hears the medics burst into the building and they're in the room seconds later. Oh right, she left the door open when she ripped off the lock.

She's instantly wearing her most concerned human expression and frantically yells at them, tears pricking at her eyes. The frightened, overwhelmed friend routine that she doesn't even have to fake because she's been in these situations far too often and knows exactly how her emotional version acts.

There's blood on her hands and she makes sure to keep them away from her face as someone pulls her off the limp body. One of them is putting pressure on the wrist, the other two hoisting the human onto a gurney.

Camille's eyes are already closed but she's breathing and Caroline knows if she regains consciousness anytime now, she might just manage to talk. So she convinces the medic that she _needs_ to ride in the ambulance with her, there's no way she can stay here.

Under the influence of her mind control, he doesn't think to decline and so she grabs her things and sits in the back with an unconscious Camille who is already getting a makeshift transfusion as they speed towards the emergency room.

It's only when she sits beside the blonde's hospital bed, her own skin finally clean and with a surprisingly not crappy hot chocolate in her hands that she focuses back on her plan.

She's already compelled the doctor do deal with the paperwork and make sure the story falls in line with the injury.

There's a drip beside the bed, the human has gotten the wound stitched and most importantly, there are several litres of new blood running through her body. What would have been easiest is some vampire blood to heal her but that would just hinder what she's got planned for the blonde.

She needs to be a purely compellable human for the next step.

She supposes anyone off the street would also have done the job but since she's convinced this human has a more personal connection with Klaus, it'll be more effective. He should have protected her better if she's important. Until then, she's stuck here playing babysitter to make sure nobody gets in her way.

It's almost noon when the blonde finally opens her eyes again and Caroline has practically zero battery left from playing games on her phone. Plus, she's read practically every magazine this hospital owns and they're all outdated.

"Good, you're up," she proclaims, leaping up to stand at the edge of the bed with a most concerned smile, "How are you feeling?"

The exhausted and furious look she gets is all the answer she needs. The human's voice is scratchy when she asks, "Why are you doing this?"

She considers that. "Mainly because it's fun but I also want to prove a point. You're just part of the plan because you happen to have a connection to a certain person and it would be a waste not to use that against him."

"I know who you are," the blonde fixes worried eyes on her, "Klaus told me."

She laughs at that, even though the statement is already irritating her. This person has no idea who she is and even if the hybrid has briefed her, she has no idea what Caroline's motivations are. So far, neither does he.

"Good, that saves me more introductions."

"He also told me that you would never hurt anyone if you could avoid it," she continues.

Caroline gives her a look that tells her just how deeply mistaken she is. He'll find that out soon enough too.

From what she's hearing, it seems that he hasn't been brought up to speed that she is on an emotionless timeout. She wonders what the Mystic Falls gang is so busy with that they didn't think to get in touch with him.

"Well, he'll just have to see how wrong he is about that," she sits down on the mattress, focusing on the bartender's eyes, "And now you're going to tell me exactly what connection you have to that family."

She wants to cheer when the answer she gets is instant and honest. Her control is working and she's already one step closer to making this pretty human the messenger.

"I met Klaus at Rousseau's when they first arrived in the city. He used me to write his memoires, spy on a friend, help in his plans and give him access to my uncle's arsenal of magic devices. Through him I met his siblings and they've asked me to play a part in their schemes against the other vampires, the witches and the werewolf packs a number of times. He also helped me find out what happened to my brother. Since then we've become… "

"Yeah, great that's enough," Caroline waves her off, "So basically they know you well enough that you can come and go in their place whenever you want?"

"Yes."

"What about this baby? How did he manage that?"

"She's called Hope, she's a really special child. He got Hayley pregnant before they moved here and the witch covens attempted to sacrifice her to…"

She stops her there. "Did you just say Hayley?"

She can't believe what she's hearing. This is getting more disturbing by the minute and if she was actually in touch with her humanity, she would probably go knock her head against a wall right now.

Klaus has a child with the backstabbing werewolf that wreaked havoc back in Mystic Falls? She doesn't even want to begin theorizing how that happened. That's a whole new low.

"Yes. She married another werewolf from an important pack recently for a magic ritual. They're out in the bayou at the moment, something about a curse keeping them in wolf form, I'm not sure how it works. The baby is at the compound with Klaus."

Hayley and Klaus' baby. She really needs to get that image out of her head because it's mildly disgusting to think about it. Talk about dropping standards. Maybe it makes some twisted kind of sense, with them both being wolves but honestly, just the thought of them parenting is absurd.

The thought of them even touching in the first place would be just as bad if she still had it in her to care. She tries to focus back on the conversation at hand.

"You're very informed," she remarks, catching the blonde's gaze again, "So they trust you with a lot?"

"I think I'm the one person they know that has no archenemies and that makes me useful," Camille looks a bit sheepish, "And I'm honest with them about what I think of what they do. Really, I would recommend that they all get therapists to get through the issues they have."

She's heard enough. It just proves that her suspicions about this woman are true.

"I knew you were the best candidate. You'll stay right here and sleep it off until I come back, you won't try to take any vervain or tell anyone about me or what I did to you, got that?" she grins at the nod she gets before moving away and slipping into her heels, "I'm going to take care of that mess at your place."

She's out the door before the human can say anything and quickly compels a nurse not to let anybody into the room without notifying her first.

Then she's heading back to the apartment to remove any evidence that could have somebody discovering Camille O'Connell before she is done with her.

 **/**

She's really running a lucky streak here. Even though the door wasn't closed after the fiasco, nobody seems to have been curious enough to check why. Then again, she supposes the people living here all have a job and are out of the building by now. She steps inside the apartment and starts searching for a bucket and mop.

Minions would really be convenient for things like this but she's always been convinced that when something needs to be done properly, she'll have to do it herself.

At least she's restricted the damage to the bedroom and Camille has done a good job of soaking up most of the blood with her clothes when she was lying on the floor.

She is just emptying the water in the bucket for a third time when her phone rings. Stefan, again. Stefan, the person who maybe hasn't given Klaus a heads up on her humanity being flipped off after all.

He probably would have taken some measures to find her otherwise. She'll have to ask the bartender about that. Maybe the Salvatore is still worth her time. She contemplates the pros and cons for a bit before picking up.

"I'm busy," she says and hears the audible sigh of relief on the other end of the line.

"Caroline," he sounds just a little surprised that she's accepted the call before his tone changes, "You need to come home."

She has to laugh at that. "Are you kidding? Not even a how are you, where have you been, good to hear you're alive? Really Stefan, I thought the whole point of having your feelings back is to care about others."

"Don't think I've stopped wondering about what you might be doing. You haven't answered in over a week – of course I'm worried about you. But something's happened. You should come back."

She rolls her eyes at the ceiling at the tone. Sure, she can appreciate that's he's not trying to pretend. If he had his humanity off, he wouldn't have called her twelve times in the past week or left her at least that many messages.

There he is, the self-torturing, brooding guy that her emotional side seems to care for and he's already making her think twice about continuing to listen to him. Unless something happened that can trump the plans she's made for tomorrow.

"So you guys can continue your little mind games on me. I'm not an idiot. I'm having a great time over here, thanks," she tosses the mop back into the water. Not a spot on the floor, just like nothing ever happened.

A pause on the other side of the line before he explains, "It's Elena. She, well, she's human again. She took the cure that Bonnie brought back and now she's in a coma thanks to Kai. It's a spell that ties two people together so … she won't wake up again as long as Bonnie lives."

She supposes that news should hit her hard somewhere around the heart, trigger some feelings about her best friends. All it does is elicit the logical reaction that would make the most sense if they want to solve the problem.

"So one of you is going to kill Bonnie, right?"

He stays silent for far too long until she figures that it's probably not the way they are planning to deal with it. Right, their agenda is a different one – caring, friends, avoiding deaths and all that. They're obviously not on track with using the easiest way out.

Unusual actually because all of them know that it's always about Elena and that she will be put first by everyone. Especially Damon. If Stefan's deluding himself that he will sacrifice a lifetime with her for Bonnie's sake, then she's curious how long he can keep that charade up.

Vampire or not, nobody is _that_ patient. Especially not his big brother. But Stefan almost sounds defensive when he objects to her question.

"We're keeping Elena with us and Bonnie will live her life just as she would want her to. Everyone is trying to find a way to break the magic but there's not always a loophole. I just wanted to tell you that we're holding a wake tomorrow and…"

"You want me to come to say something nice to sleeping Elena?" she finishes his sentence as she dumps the last of the water, "Sweet of you but I can't. I'm in the middle of something."

"Care…" he starts but she cuts right across him.

"I told you guys I want one year. If you're keeping Elena around I will see her then, it's not like she'll notice while she's in a coma," she makes sure to emphasize the last part just to picture Stefan's face, "Got to go, there's lunch waiting outside."

With that she hangs up and throws the phone onto the bed. Wow, she's forgotten what a buzz kill he can be. Fine, it's a messed up story but what is he even upset about?

Everyone is alive or at least semi-alive and he can be sure that he and Damon will still be around when Elena wakes up. It's the classic sleeping beauty story. With all the stuff they've dealt with before, it's really just another bump in the road.

She replaces the cleaning utensils and quickly wipes down the spot with a dry cloth. It's practically gleaming again and the smell of bleach isn't all that bad either. The knife she used is spotless and the duct tape at the bottom of the trash.

No witnesses, no evidence. She's getting good at this.

She takes another moment to rummage through the drawers of the human's desk, locating some paper, an envelope and a pen that actually works. What is it with people keeping pens even though there is no more ink left?

She folds the paper into the envelope and slips it into her bag. She'll have time for that later.

She's about to head back to the hospital when she notices the closet at the back of the room. Considering that hers is a fancy enough outfit to be noticed out on the street, this is probably the best time to get out of it. It's a little too tight to be comfortable for the whole day and she isn't bothered to head across town to get her own stuff.

The bartender's style isn't all that terrible, especially when it comes to prints. She's got a different size in jeans so Caroline picks out a flowy piece of silk and changes into the summer dress.

She likes it, all warm shades of peach and red and it shows just enough leg to work with her heels. Satisfied, she pulls her hair into a ponytail and makes sure to shut the door as much as possible as she leaves.

She passes someone as she heads outside, brushing against a girl who is trying to catch the main door before it closes.

"Hey!" the shorter girl stumbles slightly at the impact, eyes glinting at the blonde with irritation. Caroline pauses briefly in her motions to take a look at the irritation. She's a pretty one but with a proud expression that tells her she's probably got some sass.

She's also wearing a pendant that looks suspiciously like the one her witch informant from last night wore too. She goes out on a hunch that this girl is dabbling in magic or at least associated with witches and refrains from digging her fangs in.

The brunette disappears inside the building with a shake of her head and she pushes her from her mind, filed as irrelevant.

She's glad that she changed; the weather today is just short of hot and the breezy material feels great against her skin. She craves some proper nutrition though and the notion of hospital blood bags is not all that appealing, so she detours onto Bourbon Street.

She's improving in her routine every day and manages to convince a tourist couple asking for directions that she can show them just the place for great food. Several minutes later she steps out of some restaurant's restroom and flashes one of the waiters a wink as she goes.

Two at once and they both tasted damn good, she couldn't have decided whom she liked more. Lucky thing the woman had band-aids with her because she wasn't particularly careful with the wrists.

She hums a tune as she weaves through the people back towards the hospital. She feels more lively already. It's early afternoon and her soon-to-be puppet should be recovered enough to deal with now.

It's relatively quiet in the entrance area as she heads into the building and even smiles at the receptionist. Her mood is exceptionally good when she returns to the room and finds her captive still passed out.

There's a plate of food beside her bed. Apparently she didn't even take a break from her sleep for lunch.

She mentally thanks compulsion for being so effective before nudging the human awake. The young woman looks better, a little more colour in the cheeks.

"Have some food," she instructs, putting the tray on the blonde's lap as she sits up groggily.

There's sleepy confusion in the woman's voice that clears up when she registers where she is, "Wait … what happened? Did I sleep the whole time?"

"Yeah," Caroline flops into a chair, "I compelled you to so you did."

The blonde takes a hesitant bite of the meal, which looks very much like ravioli straight from the tin. Then she focuses back on the vampire, creasing her brow as something catches her attention.

"Is that my dress?"

"Uh huh," she crosses her legs and leans back into the chair, giving the woman a look that just dares her to say something else about it. Camille definitely seems like she wants to retort but manages to drop her gaze back to the food before saying the wrong thing.

There's silence, broken only by chewing until she looks up again and notices the clock behind Caroline's head. She indicates it with her spoon; "I was supposed to meet someone half an hour ago."

"Too bad," she's browsing through her phone, searching for a free game app that isn't entirely boring. She can't play Tetris anymore; she's at the point where it frustrates her.

"You don't think that at least one person noticed me heading to the hospital?"

She shrugs, not concerned enough to care. "Even if anyone did, would this someone know who to ask? I'm a complete stranger, nobody would suspect me and your phone is in the apartment so nobody can call either. I'd say problem solved. "

"She's resourceful," the bartender notes and Caroline deigns her with attention because there's an undertone to that statement she doesn't like, "She could track me."

"Whatever, it won't matter," she tosses her phone aside, "Because I'm making sure they discharge you tonight and then you can call her and make some excuse."

That gains her a sceptical look. "You're not going to keep me prisoner? Use me as leverage?"

"And have to watch over you a whole night? No," she scoffs at the suggestion, "I'd be missing out on the parties in this city. It's Friday, you know."

"Then why did you…?" Camille starts but instantly falls quiet when a hand is held up to silence her.

She walks back to the bed, perching on the side.

"Because I'm not going to just walk into the home of the most powerful vampires out there to insult them. That wouldn't be smart and I'm sure you'll do a great job at getting the message across without me there."

"You said it's not the kind of thing I'd agree to if I was in my right mind," she human begins and hesitates as a smile starts spreading on the other girl's face.

She was planning to do this later but if the bartender is so curious, she'll let her in on the plan. Caroline slowly reaches over and places a hand against her neck, keeping her close enough for her to focus on her eyes and drawing her into mind control.

"Because what you're going to do tomorrow morning is find Klaus, give him the letter I'm going to write in a minute and when he's finished reading it," she lets the kitchen knife dangle in front of her, "you'll stab yourself in the heart with this. Nice and deep, so there's no chance that he can heal you quick enough. It's not personal, I just figure that it can hit home a bit harder when it's someone he knows and trusts, don't you think?"

The woman's breath hitches; she can hear the heartbeat shoot up as realization sets in.

"What?" she manages to gasp.

"Hey, relax," she orders before the blonde starts hyperventilating, "You're going to be completely calm while you do this. You're not going to give him any indication of what you're going to do. Or try and warn anybody that could prevent you from doing it, break the compulsion or any of that. Got it?"

Camille nods again, eyes still huge but considerably less tense. That's the beauty of it, this ability to intercept that conflict of mind and feelings. The human won't want to do it but her body will betray her.

"Right," Caroline leans back, pleased. She retrieves the pen and paper from her bag and sits on the end of the bed, taking the tray and putting it on her legs to spread the paper on it, "You're good with words right? What's the best way to say that I don't appreciate being stalked and treated like property?"

 **/**

The sounds of an ambulance arriving cut through the air when they leave the hospital. It's sirens that have such a penetrating noise, Caroline wants to rip them right out of the vehicle. She turns around to Camille, who is back in her pyjamas that the hospital was vigilant enough to clean, and walking gingerly across the pavement.

"God, you look like you just had chemotherapy or something," she rolls her eyes, "Cheer up"

"When you signed my death sentence and I can't do anything about it? I can barely contain myself," the blonde responds listlessly, not looking at her.

"Minor detail. Remember, you're acting like everything is normal. No cryptic I-feel-like-I'm-going-to-die-soon hints or any of that," she shrugs it off as she hails a cab for the woman, "By the way, I broke your lock so you might want to check if anything got stolen. Not that it'll matter much longer."

"You broke…" the human is cut off mid-protest when a taxi pulls over and Caroline shoves some bills into her hand.

"Keep that arm covered and give them a convincing lie if someone asks," is her last command before the blonde ducks into the car. She watches until she's sure they're out of sight before she saunters off in the general direction of Gravier Street.

So this is what being bad is like. Having evil plans to ruin someone else's day just for the hell of it. Well, primarily for her own pleasure but those two things aren't mutually exclusive.

She's finding this quite entertaining. She's really tempted to go watch the spectacle herself but she'll probably hear of its effect soon enough.

She wonders how the touch with the letter is going to go over. He always sent her everything by letter – invitations, drawings and apologies. It's only fair she communicates the way he'll understand it best.

Caroline knows it isn't wise to stick around long with that little stunt on the way so she decides she'll continue her trip tomorrow. Texas isn't too far off and she figures with one more night of exploring, she'll have seen enough for now. She can always drop by on her way back someday.

Until then she will spend another night in the lair of the dragon without him knowing exactly where, taking what she wants and maybe leaving another body for good measure.

One last night for the pretty bartender to live and one more night without any consequences for her.


	4. What wine goes well with treachery?

**4\. What wine goes well with treachery?**

"Oh my god, are you okay? Where were you? I didn't know if you'd just gotten lost or something, I mean, I told Jo we should have waited for you last night but we were all so beat that I couldn't think anymore."

Caroline resists the urge to roll her eyes when she steps into the apartment and is greeted by her human host. She's instantly reminded what a pain it is to worry about people. Considering this girl doesn't even know her, it's too much of an effort to even feign interest.

"I went home with someone and he showed me the city today," she shrugs, getting a snack from the fridge as the girl trudges after her.

She's a touch pale and there's a hectic edge to her motions, as though she is running on caffeine. Or maybe just nervous energy.

"You could have called or something … I was really worried. It's crazy because in my morning lecture today they announced that there was a murder on campus yesterday. They kept it under wraps a _whole_ _day_ until they could get a picture of what might have happened before informing the students. I mean - there could be a serial killer somewhere in the dorms! They're investigating, asking people questions and it was just the strangest thing because it happened in the building where I have my classes and…"

"God, please shut up," the vampire groans, leaning in to catch the girl's gaze and underline her statement with just the necessary touch of compulsion, "I'm having a good day and you're getting on my nerves."

The effect is instant and even though Keira stares at her with a million expressions still battling on her face, she keeps quiet. Caroline walks to the couch, puts her feet up on the coffee table and reaches for the remote.

Turns out everything that is on at this time is terribly boring so she gives up zapping through channels soon enough and settles on MTV running in the background. She glances back at the human still sitting at the kitchen table, looking distraught.

She sighs and turns to her, "Seriously, get over it. There is no serial killer. At least not at your campus."

That only seems to marginally placate the girl because now she's looking at her with confusion, the question undeniably written in her eyes: how do you know?

Caroline shrugs, attention back on the screen as Lady Gaga dances through what looks suspiciously like black jelly. It has to be crazy difficult to wade through that stuff, she can't even imagine what the texture of that must feel like against bare skin.

Eventually she rises again to pour herself a glass of wine and permits her host to open her mouth again. The question is instantly voiced.

"How are you doing that?"

She waves it off with another wave of compulsion, telling her to relax and forget the day's problems before shoving a second glass into the girl's hand.

"Don't you have any decent movies?" she asks instead.

"Netflix," the girl offers, already in a better mood.

It's fantastic, just like a switch has been flipped, some synapses probably burning out in the process. Five minutes later, they're clinking glasses and starting the newest episode of Game of Thrones. It's only seven thirty after all and she wants to bask in the quiet of this tastelessly decorated apartment before immersing herself in the city's nightlife one more time.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," she says halfway through the episode, when the first head has already rolled and she's seen enough nudity to last her for a while, "So I want to go to a club that is actually good tonight. And don't even think of using some excuse, it's a Friday."

"I thought you wanted to stay a whole week?" is the only thing that seems to have reached the girl's ears.

She shakes her head and tips back the wine. "Change of plans. Good for you, I know your flatmate doesn't like me, so I'll be out of your hair. Anyways, partying."

"Jake and James were talking about a house party somewhere in the Quarter tonight. It's a private thing that one of the guys from their course is hosting. Pretty much half of Tulane's undergrads are invited, so it might be cool."

Ah, those are the names of the twins. How cruel of the parents to give them both J-names as well. They are bound to get mixed up all the time. She didn't even notice that she filed those two as unimportant sometime last night.

Either way, private house parties mean lots of free booze and that is something she's down with. Especially if it's a house in the historic area that she has already deemed the nicest place in New Orleans.

The host is either filthy rich or has some great connections to afford a place there. With any luck, there will also be enough guys for her to actually hook up tonight, since that went absolutely nowhere yesterday.

"Perfect," she seals the deal with another refill.

She takes out her phone when the credits of the episode start rolling. Her supposed best Salvatore friend sent another message again, probably for good measure. Seriously, if swaying her in a direct call doesn't work, he should know that texts are even less effective.

19:56. _Think about it again. We need you here with us._

He's pulling out all the stops to make her feel guilty or something, even though he has to know that it will have zero effect. Probably assumes she's actually been mulling it over throughout the day.

She deletes it, deciding to distract herself by putting together an outfit. She might as well pack while she's at it, no need to start on that tomorrow. She's so ready to sleep in after being awake for two days.

Keira takes that moment to open another bottle and she just can't say no to that. She swore they'd cleared out everything last night but apparently there is more stocked in a kitchen cupboard. Very resourceful.

Given the right motivation, this human may not be completely lame after all.

She reaches into her bag again and takes her vervain dose, washing it down with wine as her host looks through watch lists. She wrinkles her nose at the taste but it's definitely dulled down since she started. Not that she could survive an injection but her immunity is up now.

"Hey, there's a new True Blood one as well," Keira notes, looking around at her, "Do you watch it?"

She has to grin at that, perfectly aware what a paradox it is that she watches shows that are such a misrepresentation. Although it's really the men and the drama she watches them for.

"Sure, why not?"

 **/**

It's already quite the party when they make it to the building. It seems to be exploding with people, judging by the racket. Not that it's obvious, since just about every bar that they have passed is packed.

She's almost excited, mentally making a list of all the throats she wants to take a bite out of tonight as they move into the line outside.

"This is insane," her host mutters next to her, "We are never going to get in. There are at least a hundred people in front of us."

Caroline just scoffs, grabs her by the wrist and walks right past the people that are waiting their turn to be admitted. She is a tiny bit impressed by the scale though. If this person has even hired bouncers to make sure it doesn't get out of hand, they're doing it very right.

There are two of them at the door and despite looking friendly enough; she can already see their irritation at keeping people from pushing through. She strides over and smiles, ignoring the protests from everyone in the line.

She zeroes in on the first guy, "We're on the private guest list."

"There is no…" the man starts just before she fixes a stern gaze on him and he backtracks, stepping aside to let them past the line.

The human stumbles along behind her on heels that Caroline insisted she should to wear but that she obviously still hasn't learned to walk on by now.

"What did you say to them?" she yells over the thumping of music as they walk through the foyer, ceiling covered with silver helium balloons. Nice touch, it makes the whole space feel like the inside of a massive disco ball.

Caroline doesn't answer over the noise, taking the house in.

There's a gigantic rack on the side for people's coats and just up ahead, a doorway that leads into an open living room where most of the activity seems to be happening. She steers towards it, weaving through the people that are hovering in the hall.

The entire place looks like it's been here since the plantation times and if this were her house; she would be freaking the hell out about people destroying things. Well, not exactly. The other Caroline would be freaking out.

"I see James," Keira calls, indicating somewhere across the room, "Let's go say hi."

She contemplates that for less than a second before dismissing it. She's sure there are much more interesting people to be spending her time with here.

"I'm getting a drink," she announces, leaving the brunette behind while she heads for the open bar in the next room.

If ever there was a massive kitchen … the entire thing looks like it's been cut from one massive chunk of wood, warm browns all blending into each other. It would be her dream interior design for her own future place and what makes the view even better is every surface on the far side being covered with bottles.

There's a bartender behind the kitchen island, some young guy with a bowtie and hipster glasses that she pushes aside with a touch of mind control. She pours herself a cup, topping the drink with a slice of lemon before making her way back into the crowds.

She takes her time with it, watching the writhing mass of bodies from the outskirts long enough to enjoy every sip. She supposes if she runs out of money and is terribly desperate, she can always get a job in a cocktail place because this drink is fantastic.

At some point a guy is standing beside her, using some pick-up line for which it's really much too early and she dismisses him with a look that has him walking instantly.

The next one she makes eye contact with is much more appealing. He's dancing with another girl a few feet away but his gaze keeps drifting over and she knows he's taking in the long legs and low-cut jumpsuit. She grins before tipping back the rest of her drink and making her way past him onto the floor.

The music is nearly deafening in the centre of the room but if she's dancing, she's going all out. Her arms are above her head of their own accord and she's swaying, hips rolling and hair spilling out over her shoulders as the beat picks up.

It's not long before he's standing opposite her and she drags her eyes across him, deciding he's good enough for a dance. He's got those dark rock-star looks and eyes that remind her just the slightest bit of Tyler's.

She's surprised she still makes that comparison because there's really nothing she feels for the werewolf anymore. The difference between them is that this guy can let go and dance.

In no time she's flush against him, enjoying every bit of contact. The only problem she has with this closeness is that he smells so good that it would be a waste to let this moment slide away without getting a taste.

The lights dim to a deep blue as the music changes and streaks of silver illuminate the room. Quite the show, this might just be the most elaborate private party she's been to. In the dark, she focuses on the human in front of her and curls an arm around his shoulder to move closer.

He groans in her ear when she takes liberties with his neck and it's not exactly a sound of pain. She drinks slowly, sucking lightly on the spot and feeling his hands tighten against her hips. She licks across the injured skin as she draws away, blood and lipstick against her tongue as she cleans the evidence away.

Her partner looks mesmerized, slightly dazed but the music is picking up again and she gives him no time to think as she turns around in his grip, back to chest, and moves in time with the bass. Now there's definitely some sign of activity and she keeps just enough distance between their bodies to draw this out.

He's got decent self-control; she'll give him that. But three songs in, he finally spins her around and captures her mouth in the kiss they've both been anticipating. Her lips curve into a smirk against his. Now this is what she actually came for.

At some point he shouts over the music to ask her name and she pretends she can't hear him, just to have him take her hand and lead her towards the entrance hall. It's barely quieter here so he keeps going, keeping to the perimeter of the room and avoiding the clusters of people in the way.

There's a flight of stairs to their left and she follows him as he pulls her along, only mildly curious about where he's planning to take her.

The first floor is easily just as packed but he finds a corner niche for them to settle into so he can pull her in for another kiss. She's running her hands over his back, placing kisses along the other side of his neck until he does draw back and ask for her name again.

"Does it matter?" she retorts, capturing his mouth before he can keep talking.

People with their emotions, it's honestly like he's adamant to make sure she doesn't feel like a one-night-stand about to happen. If she cared more, maybe she'd appreciate the gesture but for god's sake, what does it look like she's doing here?

"Yeah," he pulls back, switching their positions to push her against the plaster, "I want to know who this gorgeous girl is."

"She's just passing through," Caroline states, still focusing on his lips but drifting off ever so slightly towards the shiny bite on his neck, blood smudged slightly against the dark button-up, "So I think you should stop asking questions. I only have tonight and I'm not planning to waste it on life stories."

He catches her eye for a second longer and she can see his resolve hardening. Maybe he'll try to get her name and number again but she figures it's clicked that he'll have to perform before he deserves those.

Her words have the desired effect in any case because he's pressing against her again and sucking on her throat, raining kisses down the exposed skin.

She's shameless enough to start on his clothes right here in the open but apparently he's not lost his inhibitions entirely just yet and starts to move again, guiding her through the bulk of dancing people to find an unoccupied room.

Caroline really doesn't have the patience for this because it's obvious that twenty other couples already had this idea before them. Three locked doors later she takes charge, pulling him through a huddle of girls to one of the traditional balconies facing the back of the house.

The three people squished onto the limited space are quickly banished and she slams the glass doors shut before backing him into the outside wall. There are barely two steps of space and she decides sitting on the banister might be a bit too uncomfortable for her liking.

It's almost entirely dark out here and the only ones that could be watching with a clear view are the neighbours from their balconies. For all she cares, half the party can watch because she's done with foreplay here.

He's more responsive now as she pulls his shirt over his head before untying the back of her jumpsuit and letting it slip to her waist. He's kissing across her chest the moment she exposes it and Caroline throws her head back, staring at the sky miles above her.

There's a breeze that tickles her skin and parries the heat rising under her skin and she suddenly thinks she might stay in this city after all. She reaches for his belt.

That wonderful aspect of not having to be concerned about birth control as a vampire comes to her attention when he mumbles something about a condom. She cuts him off with another kiss.

His pants are around his ankles before he's quite aware of what's happening and she shimmies out of her outfit, stepping over it in plain heels and underwear. She must look like quite the stripper at this point and the best thing is, she's knows she wears it well.

He regains enough sense of himself to guide her into his position, swapping places. She's already moving with his intentions, hiking a leg around his waist and pulling him in.

They both have to groan when he's sheathed inside her and she grips the edge of the iron banister as they start a rhythm, her voice urging him on. Again, it's not as rough as she would like but she enjoys herself, splayed against the brick and feeding from him as he gives her the friction she's been craving.

He must really find her irresistible because he does everything to make sure she's satisfied with the experience, rubbing her hard along with every thrust until her body eventually starts to shudder around him and she gasps into the night air.

She raises her head from the vein to clench her hand around the railing at the sensation, his harsh breathing in her ear as he keeps up the rhythm long enough for her to have ridden out her orgasm by the time he reaches his release.

Caroline is exceptionally pleased with her choice for the night, deigning him with another deep kiss before untangling herself and putting her clothes back on. This was better than she expected and for that, she won't drain him after all.

He's not quite as fast in recovering, still catching his breath as he leans against the banister. She's combing her fingers through her hair, peeking through the glass doors to note that they've had one or two voyeurs trying to catch a glimpse of their little escapade. They quickly turn away when she looks at them.

"So," her conquest says, "That was awesome."

"Yeah, not bad," she agrees and turns her back to him so that he can tie the straps on the jumpsuit, "Help me with this."

He obliges, fingers slightly unsteady as he fabricates a knot. He gives her a grin though when she spins around again and bends down to retrieve her purse for her, "I think that warrants at least a number though."

She takes the bag from him, returning the smile before focusing on his eyes again.

"Actually, you're going to forget me once I walk back in there. You'll think you had great sex with someone else tonight and there was a little biting involved so you should find a bathroom to clean that up."

There's a blank nod of understanding and she gives him a pat on the shoulder as she heads inside, leaving him to gather his clothes. Nice guy, not quite in the Matt category, who is obviously the ultimate nice person as far as compassion and selflessness go, but still the kind emotional Caroline would possibly fall for.

She ignores the stares she gets as she heads along the corridor and back downstairs with the determination to get another drink and really start on the dancing.

She's quite satiated now but there's always room for another snack on the floor. Still coming down from multiple highs, she jumps straight into the thrill of music pulsing from body to body.

The fact that there are no clocks in this place makes it easy to lose track of time. She catches sight of her human host at some point, making out with one of the twins. She's nowhere close to interested in the girl's relationships but that'll definitely be awkward in the morning.

She's got the third tequila cocktail in her hand when she decides to get some air. There's such an extreme body heat in here, it's making her dizzy with bloodlust. She's conflicted with all the lovely throats an arm's reach away although she doesn't need more.

Since the bouncers are compliant enough to let her in anytime, she dips past them and meanders out into the street for a minute. She takes another gulp of her drink, enjoying the ice cubes on her tongue.

There's still a sweet aftertaste of blood under the liquor and she savours it.

The big dipper is looking down at her again when she leans against another building, a surprisingly quiet nondescript bar, and tilts her head up. She's reminded of the night with the young wolf and wonders just how she was found.

She's slightly disappointed that she's leaving this city too; it's offered her such entertainment already. She hasn't even gone on a proper music tour or one of those touristy haunted walks through the Quarter that the online reviews recommend.

Benefits of having eternity - there will always be another time. She supposes Houston has its perks as well and maybe she'll do a bit more of a rural tour there. Most importantly, she'll definitely not have to be dealing with someone spying on her the whole way.

Honestly, she doesn't get why Klaus even ordered some guy to keep tabs on her.

With a child on the way and all the craziness that's apparently happening in this city, she's surprised he thought of her at all. If she'd stayed in Mystic Falls in her current state, she wouldn't have wasted a thought on him.

Sure, she knows that he has … or had feelings for her humanity-filled self but that doesn't make it okay to have her _stalked_ day-in, day-out. He said it himself, he can wait for her to change her mind even if it takes a goddamn century.

Obviously it was a mistake to trust him on that but now she knows that trust is overrated anyway. Like all those silly human emotions.

Her cup is empty again but her mood has dissipated with these new thoughts. The infamous slump that always hits at some point during a great party. It's dark enough that dawn is still some way off and yet her eagerness to dance until her legs give out has vanished.

She starts walking instead, in search of a place that can offer her something else.

 **/**

A glance at the nearest sign tells her she's crossing onto Toulouse Street so she takes a turn, hoping to hit the water at some point. She hasn't seen the river yet and since that's something so integral to the city, she should fit that into the programme while she's here.

The streets are still alive and she pauses in front of a lone trumpeter who stands at the next corner, tipping his hat at tourists and partygoers that toss a dollar into his case.

She's got no cash on her but she stays and listens, swaying ever so lightly with the alcohol in her bloodstream. She's probably the only one that takes the time to catch his quiet song, everybody else is just passing by, on their way to get some sleep or find another bar.

She doesn't even notice that her eyes have closed until the tune ends. She snaps them open, only to find someone standing two feet away from her that she definitely didn't expect to see tonight. Or ever.

She almost blurts out an obscenity at the surprising appearance but catches herself, taking a step back instead.

"Miss Forbes," the Original looks at her with mild interest, "What a coincidence."

She stares at him, hovering there with practiced ease in his immaculate suit. It takes her a moment to really remember him. She doesn't think they've ever formally met like this – that night at the Mikaelson ball she was too busy paying attention to everything else to really invest some time in watching the Original family.

Most of the things she knows about him are hearsay from Elena. So it's even more surprising to her that he recognizes her.

She clears her throat, crossing her arms in a needless show of defensiveness.

"Really? I'm just doing what any tourist would do. Enjoying the culture."

Elijah watches her carefully, evidently trying to deduce something from her behaviour. "I wasn't aware you were staying here. Paying a visit to my brother perhaps?"

She keeps her face entirely blank but there's something about his gaze that just seems to pick out the truth before any words are uttered. So she sticks to the facts, however vague.

"Actually, I'm taking a gap semester. I've always wanted to travel, so I figured I'd use the time to see something outside Virginia."

"I'm sure Niklaus would be most happy to show you around the city," his collected expression never wavers but she can see the amusement in his eyes at how she's dancing around the subject of the hybrid.

She's tempted to tell him that she doesn't feel anything except displeasure for his brother but settles for an excuse.

"I've got to take off soon," she shrugs apologetically, "I'm meeting someone tomorrow."

Not entirely a lie and she refuses to blink while he watches her with that measuring gaze.

He's definitely the more calculated brother, cold-blooded vampire through and through.

"I see," he takes a step closer then and she makes sure to stand her ground, giving nothing away even as he keeps his gaze on her face, entirely polite, "Then I insist you join us for breakfast before you leave. I'm sure there's much to tell about the activity in Mystic Falls. We also happen to have a brilliant cook, you must try her beignets."

The refusal is already on her tongue when she thinks again. Ducking out of his invitation would just raise suspicion and she's sure Klaus would think something is out of place.

Technically, they parted on good terms when she last saw him so her behaviour would make no sense. But then again, if the pretty bartender walks in during that breakfast she is so dead. Because that kind of rudeness probably won't go over too well. She wants a solid two hundred miles between them before that happens.

She settles for the safer option: playing the confused-about-her-feelings card. Acting like she still has feelings while she's at it.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I'm ready to, uh, see him yet."

A knowing smile graces the man's face when she says that. It pisses her off immediately. Still, she keeps the sheepish look plastered on, hoping to get her point across.

"By the scent that's all over your skin I'm guessing it also has something to do with the fact that he may incur a bout of jealousy," the Original speculates and she's taken aback by his directness once again.

Damn it, she's completely forgotten that their incredible senses trump her own. Good thing she's got her heart rate under control. She flips her hair over her shoulder in cool defiance.

"It doesn't. And I don't see why he should care."

"Perhaps it would be more clear if you were still emotionally present," he suggests and she swallows, inwardly cursing.

There's a momentary battle of gazes before she figures there is no use pretending. He's already seen past the façade and called her out on it.

"What gave me away?" she asks, moving to walk past him.

She doesn't try to complain when he falls into step with her because there's nothing she can do about it anyway. His politeness is probably just as much an act as her indifference to him.

He's serious again and thankfully not belittling as he points out her mistake, "A number of things. That you are here and not mourning in Mystic Falls. The fact that you barely reacted to the mention of my brother in the way that was to be expected. Most obviously your answer as to _why_ you are here."

She raises her eyebrows at that. How did her desire to get out of her hometown equate to being without her humanity? This could totally be a dealing-with-grief kind of trip. Her mom has been dead for ten days now. It sounds perfectly plausible to her.

"Because I wouldn't be here if I had my humanity on?"

"Precisely," he agrees. She reigns in a glare because it's just incredible how he presumes to know her that well. Even though he's right, of course. How much has Klaus been talking about her for him to make those assumptions?

"Wait. How do you even know that my mom died?" she throws back at him, "Which one of them called you?"

"Stefan Salvatore was so kind to send Niklaus a memorandum to make sure he was aware of your situation, with a subtle request for my brother to keep his distance from funeral proceedings or anything of the sort," Elijah smiles at her furrowed brow, "I suppose he believes that you are still in contact and that my brother is not a good influence in times of sorrow."

She doesn't answer, mentally snapping Stefan's neck a couple of times for going behind her back. She was the one taking care of the wake, the funeral and the formalities. It should have been her decision whom to inform.

Then again, if that spy was around at the time, then Klaus would have been aware of her mother's death anyway. Shocking, that she hasn't even received a letter of condolence.

She figures he is the type to do that if he won't come in person. For people he cares about, anyway. He did have some form of respect for her mother, she's sure of that, and it made her foolish enough to expect a card.

Either way, it's unlikely that he listens to anything Stefan suggests unless it suits him.

They're approaching the end of the street and she can see the river ahead of them, a long, dark sheet of water with the occasional ripple of light reflecting. She stops at the bank, staring at the city that stretches out along the other side. She wonders why the Original is still hanging around.

"So if you know I don't care, why are you here?" she questions, tilting her head to look at him. He's also gazing out across the water, pensive.

"I'm still intrigued as to why you would choose to come here if not in the hope of running into my dear brother. There are more than enough other cities to choose from and despite the obvious charm of this," he indicates the activity behind them, "Why come if not in the hopes of seeing him? And what reasoning could be behind that if there is no emotional connection to Niklaus anymore?"

Caroline holds his stare, wondering if he was using compulsion just then. She can't feel anything happening but she also doesn't have a good answer. So she simply looks away, back into the black depths, inwardly tensing.

Another realization hits her then. Never mind that he is right on some level but it's the principle of it.

"Not everything is about him. Sometimes people can make their own decisions without a Mikaelson involved. And guess what? The world doesn't revolve around your family like you all think it does."

He looks at her properly then and although somewhere deep inside, a flicker of fear registers the longer she looks into his expressionless face, she doesn't let it out. His amusement is gone at the contempt in her words. She's had enough of this game. Maybe she'll go back to that party after all for some slaughtering.

"Have a good night," she tells him with that extra level of cordiality he seems so fond of, effectively ending the conversation. Just when she steps away, he brings her to a stop with a hand on her elbow.

"Careful, Miss Forbes. You still wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of this family."

"Let that be my problem," she retorts.

Turning her back on him when he releases her, she walks back into the Quarter. Several metres between them and he doesn't follow, which she takes as a good sign. She wants another drink now, a straight shot of tequila to chase down that encounter with. Or five, more likely.

She probably has gotten on his bad side but that doesn't matter to her right now. He shouldn't have made assumptions about her. She's been done with people's opinions about her since coming back from the dead the first time.

She doesn't need to explain herself to anyone and once the bartender's performance has made that clear, there's a good chance these brothers will understand that too.

What she doesn't catch is Elijah's creased brow at her departure and the way he takes out his phone to send a message.

03:43. _Camille may have been correct._


	5. What is done is never undone

**5\. What is done is never undone**

Caroline wakes to sharp knocking on the apartment door and groans at the intrusive noise. It's the weekend, who the hell could possibly be up at such a time?

She can't bring herself to open her eyes yet, burying into the neon pillow. It's not a hangover, she doesn't get those anymore, but she hasn't slept for a while now and being woken like this is just not okay.

If she had the motivation, she would get up and answer the door just to slam it in the person's face.

She has no idea how long she's been passed out and can't really pinpoint when she made it back here either. Her memory slowly starts to recollect an overwhelming amount of tequila and two corpses she left in an alley out of pure spite. She was annoyed and alcohol seemed a good way to compensate the fact that the Original ruined her mood.

More knocking and she hears the annoying flatmate stumbling into the hallway, sleepy steps moving towards the noise.

Caroline manages to crack an eye somewhat open and reach over the covers for her phone. There is daylight filtering through the curtains so it's definitely past sunrise but she's got no real sense of time.

Three missed calls, she registers dimly, before her gaze lands on the digital clock. A flash of realization sends icy shock through her as the numbers start coming into focus, telling her it's almost half past nine.

Half. Past. Nine.

She leaps out of the bed faster than she thought was physically possible in her state. She should be on the road by now. Her plan was to leave before the bartender pulls that stunt, put some distance between herself and New Orleans.

It's already been an hour by her calculations since Camille was supposed to show up at the Mikaelson home.

She's getting a hold of her senses now, focusing on her surroundings, and stops dead when she picks up the conversation outside. It shouldn't surprise her to hear the familiar accent on the other side of the apartment door. She shouldn't freeze halfway into her dress and think about what the hell to do because she should have anticipated this.

He's a morning visitor that she is not prepared to entertain right now.

Always having a back-up plan just in case, she knows all about that. Too bad arrogance got in the way this time. She didn't plan for this and now she's at a loss of how to deal with the situation. She can't place his motivations yet and going out there is surely not going to work in her favour.

If he is at this apartment that means one of two things – either her demonstration worked and there is a human body to show for it, meaning the hybrid may be having a somewhat negative reaction, or Elijah passed on the news of her presence and he's here for a curious visit. She highly suspects it's the former.

Her body is already falling into fight-or-flight-mode as she tugs the fabric over her head. Caroline knows there are precious few seconds left before the Original compels the girl to let him in. She doesn't even need to speculate how he got the info on her location.

His brother must have had her followed for the rest of the night and she was too busy getting drunk to pay attention. Or care.

The flatmate is already talking to the stranger at her door, confirming that there is a blonde girl from out of town staying with them. Maybe a handful more seconds before he can enter.

She hears his voice command the girl to invite him in just as she's grabbing her handbag, tossing her phone into it. There's underlying fury in his tone, a distinct lack of good humour to his instructions.

It sounds like the bartender did her job well enough to coax an emotional reaction from him. Pretty much what she aimed for. She wants to congratulate herself for a perfectly executed plan, is actually a bit disappointed that she didn't get to see the human bleeding out in front of him.

The thing is that she wasn't supposed to be around at all to face any wrath from the hybrid.

There's an audible snap of the neck in the hallway as she pushes the window open and she doesn't pause to see the evidence of his anger. At least is confirms that he's not here for polite chitchat.

She's out of the building in a flash, ignoring the fact that it's daytime and there could be witnesses around to see her jumping down the side of a building from the third floor. Screw the fire escape; it would take too much time.

The tarmac is rough but warm under her bare feet as she hits the ground, already moving along the wall towards the road. She can hear no screams of shock so it looks like there are no witnesses of her morning acrobatics. The street is quite empty; nobody is paying attention to the building and it may just be another one of those lucky streaks today.

She heads straight towards the stolen Ford, mentally thanking technology for keys that can unlock the vehicle from a distance. She's so close, just about to fling the door open when a hand slams against the metal, effectively hindering her in her motions.

She bites back a groan. She'll probably never learn to stop underestimating the physical capabilities of this family. She was fast, damn it! How has he caught up already?

For a drawn-out moment, she stays where she is, key in hand and staring across the roof of the car. He's right behind her, she can sense the body barely a foot away. The suppressed tension is obvious in the way his fingers are denting the frame.

She may be lacking emotions but she's not stupid and knows he's put her in a position that she can't escape from.

Caroline straightens and slowly turns around, leaning against the car to face the man she's been dodging since her arrival. It's surreal to see him here, be trapped in his gaze again.

He is so different from Stefan, she notes with mild interest, so much more intense in his physicality. But having to deal with that again just fuels her irritation.

Klaus' eyes are fixed on her. They are dark as he sizes her up and not all of the emotion in them is pleasant. He hasn't changed a bit from how she remembers him, still has the black clothes and those lips that normally would have her rethinking the decision to get away from him.

It's obvious that there's bloodlust in the space between them and she isn't sure yet if he'll direct it at her.

Her eyes trail downwards of their own accord, taking in all of him. The smudges of red that she glimpses on his hands confirm her suspicions and she can't help the smile that tugs at her mouth. At least it looks like the message has found its recipient. It almost makes up for this failed attempt to run from the consequences.

But his presence also ignites the instinctual feeling of being threatened. They are two animals here and she's enraged the one opposite her. She thought there might be more of a stomach flutter, something to indicate that there are affectionate feelings connected to him.

Thankfully, the sight of the hybrid leaves her just as cold as she thought she'd be. Well, excluding the possibility that he may lose his temper any second now.

"Klaus," she states, finally raising her eyes to his. She's pleased that the word comes out as nonchalantly as she planned.

"We need to have a chat," he tells her and she lets the smooth voice roll right over her and drop away, already knowing what her answer will be.

"Didn't I make myself clear already?" she responds and doesn't bat an eyelash when he's suddenly even closer, both arms bracing against the metal. It's almost too familiar, too much like that afternoon in the woods. The main difference being that they're in the middle of a street that is not as secluded from watchful eyes.

"You shouldn't have done that," there's a dangerous glint in his eye that tells her he may just be moments away from bodily dragging her off, "You made a mistake, Caroline."

"No, you made one when you decided to have me stalked," she corrects with icy pleasantness, "It's all fair play."

There's a muscle working in his jaw and she can almost grasp his inner conflict. She's not the girl he left in Mystic Falls and apparently he's not quite sure how to deal with it. That promise of never hurting her is probably weighing on him now.

She can't help the smile returning to her face, can't resist asking, "Don't tell me she meant something to you, that adorable bartender?"

That has him glaring and the sound of the car door giving way beside her is enough proof. His reaction makes her laugh and she doesn't try to contain it. This scenario is absurd and they both know it.

That she would cause him pain by murdering someone close to him is something her former self would not condone. That is his personality but it wasn't hers. She's delighting in it now though because somehow she's gotten the advantage here.

He's busy putting on the mask, the one she's seen through long ago. Wearing the face of the emotionless killer to delude himself that he doesn't care.

"She was valuable," he says.

That just earns him a scoff. "Obviously not for free drinks. Good enough to babysit, maybe?"

"Caroline…" he all but growls. A jibe at his child apparently doesn't go over well.

She's feeling much more daring, seeing that she's got him running out of answers. He doesn't want to admit that the human meant something, fine. She doesn't care about that. But if he's not here to hurt her for it then he'd better get to the point.

"Are you going to stand there and lecture me until I apologize? Because if you know what is going on here then you should kill me or get out of my way. Unless it's sex you want, then I might just make time for you."

She enjoys the widening of his eyes at her audacity. Honestly, she reckons she is just stating the obvious. There's a moment he is simply frozen in his position, a silent statue cornering her.

But he doesn't buy into her bravado and the sudden pressure of fingers on her abdomen, pushing her against the car door with enough force to leave her winded is telling her she may just have overstepped a boundary.

In the next moment, she registers that it's just out of convenience to exercise his control over her. He could have grabbed her around the throat but that could lead to someone noticing and intervening. They are in broad daylight after all and he's probably got enemies all over. He was never one to make a scene when it doesn't fulfil a higher purpose.

"You know, I expected something of a shift when Elijah told me about you. Without humanity, you would be reckless and reject authority, forget your inhibitions. You would be _good_ at it because your control is impeccable. But you should have thought twice about that demonstration today because the rules are different in this city. There is nobody to clean up the mess and keep you out of harm's way."

The longer he speaks, the stronger the itch to spill blood grows in her. She's just about to throw his words right back at him when he pulls out the tactic she's been expecting all along. So instead of retaliating just yet, she reaches into the bag that's dangling at her side.

"I suggest you turn it back on," he commands with impressive calmness and she's pleased to find that the telltale dilation of his pupils does nothing to pull her into compulsion. Building immunity with that disgusting tonic was a great decision, if only for the expression on his face when he realizes she isn't bending to his will.

Caroline draws out the word, looking him dead in the eye, "No."

There's a lapse in the mask, an irritation at the flaw in his plan. The pressure on her stomach lightens for a moment as he leans back.

"Vervain," he mutters with a shake of the head, more to himself than her. She isn't quite sure why a smile is spreading over his face nonetheless, the glint back in his eye. Almost like he's proud. "Of course, you're prepared."

"It was a boring speech," she tells him bluntly, shifting to test how far he'll let her move, "Not very convincing."

"Then perhaps I need to make myself clearer."

She can barely note that she doesn't like the sound of that when his hand is suddenly on her jaw, impossibly fast, and she knows he's about to pull a snapped neck on her. Good thing her reflexes are already kicking in.

She's got a pen stabbed deep into his side, right above the hip, just before he can wrench her neck around.

His hiss of surprise turns into a growl as she follows the attack with a solid shove, sending him backwards into the wall of the building. Before he can recover, she's gone, sprinting down the street at vampire speed. She's past caring about being discovered, she needs to find a quick and effective way out of here.

Going back to the car isn't an option; she'd have to lure him away before attempting that. She's pretty sure she dropped the key somewhere near it too and it's very possible someone might steal it before she gets that chance.

She has no plan where she is going but decides on people-filled areas; somewhere she can blend in long enough to lose him. Tulane is a good place to start. Her chances are better of finding a compellable, unsuspecting student to give her a lift out of the city instead of picking someone off the street here. Hopefully it's also a place he won't immediately think of seeking out.

Caroline pauses in the shadow of a department store, needing a moment to orient herself. She has no clue what direction the university is from here, tries to recall the first day when she arrived and navigated there.

She instantly regrets taking these two seconds when she feels a hand on her arm, pulling her around to face an angry hybrid. This time she has no time to react when his hand lashes out and pain erupts in her head as her neck is bent at an unnatural angle.

The world goes black.

 **/**

Her groan resonates in the space when she wakes. When the lingering ache in her spine finally subsides, Caroline realizes she's in a lavishly decorated room and there's a super uncomfortable chair pressing into her back.

It takes her a moment to gather that she's been tied to it, hands crossed at the back and ankles securely fastened to the legs, and she almost laughs at the lengths of rope. Seriously, he thinks that will hold her here?

It's only when she tries to move in her binds that her limbs seem to be gripped by an intense lethargy. She feels a rush of light-headedness, making it clear that she shouldn't be straining anything at his point.

The source of weakness is quickly located – an IV in her arm and a steady stream running down into a blood bag. Three full ones are already on the bedside table to her left and she doesn't have to guess whom the contents belong to. She's easily down several litres already and having to heal a broken neck at the same time is taxing her body.

She's really not happy about the irony. Sure, Klaus is going about removing her immunity in a much more hygienic fashion but now she's in the same position she subjugated the human to.

It's like he knows how to push the buttons she's technically supposed to not be affected by. It seems like a lack of oxygen supply in her brain is causing her to be more susceptible to angry sensations. They're back to where they started in Mystic Falls, playing cat and mouse and she walked straight into the trap today.

Okay, think. Focus. She needs information before she can plan an escape. She may be resourceful but in kidnapping situations she's always had to be rescued until now. Or at least have some kind of external assistance from her friends.

Taking a breath that feels heavy in her dry throat; she directs her attention towards the surroundings instead of her predicament. Nothing special. It looks like a plain guest room.

Bed, closet, bedside table, an armchair and, surprisingly, a bunch of flowers in the corner. How thoughtful to leave her a welcoming gift but not a single sharp object lying around that she could use.

Caroline tugs against her binds again, resulting in a fresh burst of blood into the tube. She needs to get rid of that needle. She bends down, trying to grab the thing with her teeth. No use, she's secured too firmly across the chest to reach her arm.

Twisting her wrist out of the rope at the back of the chair doesn't work either, there's obviously vervain soaked into the cord and each motion has her rubbing her skin more raw than it's already become. Not to mention that there is obviously some experience with knots involved in her binds.

She shakes her head, trying to clear the buzzing in her ears. She needs to concentrate. One burst of vampire strength to tear through the rope maybe? Conserving energy doesn't seem to be doing any good here; she'll only get weaker with the fluid she's losing at this rate. The bag is almost full and she figures someone comes in regularly to change it, otherwise there would be blood staining the floor.

Taking a deep breath, she violently strains against the rope around her wrists, biting back a scream at the burn against her flesh. She swears she can hear fibres unravel, sense a give in the cord as she pulls. She's losing against the damn IV, blinking against the black spots covering her vision.

Then there's a door opening and a slow approach of footsteps, someone securing her again with unforgiving fingers. She slacks off in her resistance. Her body feels too hot at the lack of blood, tingling all over and she can't feel her hands for a moment.

Her vision stays clouded but she's determined to stay conscious. Through the physical confusion, she feels someone apply pressure to the crook of her arm and the slick sound of plastic against plastic.

It takes half a minute before she can see properly again and her throat seems to have dried up entirely, her tired tongue not cooperating. She raises her head with some effort to see the older Original in front of her, hands in pockets and missing a suit jacket.

Judging by the fact that he's here, she must be in their new house. Or, from what she knows of their standards, probably a mansion. She assumes she's in the French Quarter, since that's where he stumbled into her last night.

"Miss Forbes," he addresses her just as formally as yesterday, "You are currently missing the majority of blood in your system so I advise you to stay calm and move as little as possible. We wouldn't want you desiccating right now."

She doesn't have the energy to talk back yet so she settles for glaring, wondering why he is the one taking care of his brother's issues. So Klaus is invested enough to incapacitate and kidnap her but he sends Elijah to do the talking? It seems very unlike him to miss the opportunity to taunt someone.

"Where…is he?" she mumbles, somewhat surprised at how difficult it is to speak. When did it start taking this much effort to make a sound?

"Niklaus is otherwise occupied. I suggested he should take some time away from you to decide on further action. Thanks to your… display, we have a funeral to organize and dangerous friends to placate. It is as much for your safety as for ours that you stay here until that is settled."

She manages a groan instead of the question she wanted to ask and her vision blurs again. Elijah is moving, retrieving something from his pocket but she can't focus on it, reality still swimming in front of her eyes. She does feel the agony of wood piercing her shoulder though and can barely muster the energy to scream at the fire flaring up in the wound.

"My apologies but I can't have you leaving this room anytime soon. Your daylight protection has also been removed so I suggest avoiding sunlight for the next ten hours."

Caroline barely takes it in. She never imagined the pain from a stab wound to automatically magnify when the body is so drained. There's something warm slowly making its way down her arm so she knows the needle wound hasn't closed either. It's crazy but she is feeling weaker in this position than she ever did as a human.

The door snaps shut somewhere in the distance and she wants to laugh at the key turning in the lock. Seriously, if she had the strength to make it out of these ties, she would also be able to break down a door. So is it to keep her in or lock others out?

Then her body decides it has had enough for the moment and she blacks out again.

The day drags by in form of silence and pain. She can't tell how fast time is passing – the curtains are drawn and shutters closed. Between losing consciousness from the pain and staring at the floor trying to think about anything but the wood in her shoulder, she is both bored and increasingly pissed off.

She thinks about screaming a few times but decides it's both futile and too much effort that surely won't have an effect. She doubts anyone on the street would hear her from in here at the feeble volume she can produce right now.

Staff in the house? Doubtlessly all compelled and even if not, they would have no motivation to set her free because they'd be aware of consequences. Not everyone is as idiotically reckless as her.

It seems that Klaus doesn't want her dead and apparently is even protecting her from others attempting just that. Unexpected but she's not complaining about that. It still doesn't give her any indication as to what other motivation he could have for keeping her here.

All she can think of is that draining her opens the possibility to compel her back to humanity. If it even works like that. She's only ever seen it succeed when deep, overwhelming emotions are triggered.

When she shifts against the stiff mahogany, the fresh burst of searing pain from her shoulder sends her spiralling back into the void.

 **/**

It's her seventh time waking up again from unconsciousness when she notices a change in the room. Since the light has been on the entire time, her eyes take a bit to adjust to the brightness again and that's when her gaze falls on him.

He has changed clothes since this morning, appearing almost formal in the collared shirt. The longer she looks at him, the clearer his edges become and she can see a wet gleam in his eyes. She concludes that the funeral has already happened.

If they'd held one for every human that was killed back in Mystic Falls, they'd still be at it. She knows he wouldn't have cried for any of them.

Klaus doesn't say anything, simply leaning against the door and watching her. She can barely keep her eyes open long enough to respond with a blank stare but tries nonetheless. It seems an age before he removes himself from the outskirts of the room and moves closer.

She inhales heavily, waiting for some kind of impact that never comes. Instead, he stands in front of her chair, close enough for her to be able to stomp on his foot if she wasn't tied up.

Caroline sees the hand nearing her face but she can only move away so far, can't prevent the contact of his palm against her skin. Steeling herself for the onslaught of images doesn't help much either.

 _There's the bartender, shock etched into her features and the hilt of the kitchen knife between her fingers as she falls to the ground. The entire blade buried in her chest and the internal bleeding must be twice as bad as the blood leaking out of the wound. She makes a noise that's not quite a sob, limbs twisting on the ground as her body stops moving._

 _A piece of paper flutters to the ground, blue cursive words beside her stilling face. There's hands she knows are his, ripping out the weapon with no gentleness to spare, pressing a bleeding wrist against the unresponsive mouth, repeating her name in earnest._

 _There's no response from the human, his remedy trickles from the corner of her mouth. Unseeing eyes looking at the ceiling and his hands, covered in blood. They frame the paling cheeks as he gently lays her back down._

 _She's already a new shade of white when a stretcher is brought into the room; the human body is picked up from the carpet. Only a bloodstain is left behind. Then she's in a casket with candles illuminating the funeral in an empty church. Flowers in her folded hands._

 _A handful of individuals are standing around with drawn faces. There's the brunette from the apartment - the girl with the proud mouth that's twisted in sorrow, tears dripping over her lips. A dark-skinned man with his head in his hands. A tall, boyish one that cries openly as he holds the brunette's hand. The Mikaelson brothers in mournful silence and a blonde woman on the sidelines._

 _Subdued words of praise, whispered affections for the bartender. All saying their goodbyes and she can hear the cries of the little witch as she sinks down on the stone steps beside the dead woman. She watches through his eyes until the coffin is closed._

When he removes his fingers she catches his gaze with her own as he steps back. She doesn't falter, even as her voice grates over the words but she puts in the effort to tell him, sincerely, "Sorry, about the carpet."

His expression turns guarded. His eyes are dry again. He looks like a part of him wants to strike her for her words but his impulse control is back, he doesn't move a muscle and she keeps up her stare.

The woman meant nothing to her and this time round it was his mistake to care for a human and let himself get attached to someone. She's learned from the best.

He responds by pulling the stake out of her shoulder, so suddenly that she really can't bite back the scream and the curse that flies past her lips. She falls back against the chair while the wound throbs furiously, leaking blood across her chest.

A couple of drops hit her bare foot, dark against her skin. She feels deeply exhausted again as the healing sets in slowly, much too slowly, but smiles as soon as she can manage it.

"She's a pretty corpse."

He leans over her, bracing his weight against the arms of the chair. He appears deadly serious when he tells her, "Just like you would be, if I should decide to end your life now."

He turned that one around; she'll give him that. She has to focus on breathing through the pain and he's distracting her with those eyes, that smooth voice so close to her ear.

"When … did you start … caring about humans?"

He ignores her raspy comment, instead grazing his fingers ever so lightly over the raw injury and causing a shudder to run through her body. It burns like hell and she clamps her teeth together to avoid any noise. He's confusing her, walking this line between release from pain and cutting even deeper.

Looks like it's time for her psychological torture now. She wonders if that's ever worked for him in restoring someone's humanity.

"Sometimes," he murmurs as he straightens, examining the new redness on his fingertips, "People change you. They can make you act in ways you've never imagined. They try to redeem you even if they don't know how. They make you show kindness, forgiveness, pity."

Caroline remembers those words, remembers the situation attached to it. The time she told him that she knew about his feelings and was sure he could be saved from himself. Another night that she could have almost died by his hand had he been less attached.

His stories are having an effect though, making her delve into memories she doesn't care about anymore. She doesn't like it, is far too hungry and tired for this.

"And sometimes those people die," she cuts in icily.

"Just like your mother," he surmises.

She simply looks at him, managing to raise her eyebrows enough to communicate her condescension. He wants to talk about her mom, fine; she'll let him talk. He shouldn't expect her to cooperate though and definitely shouldn't expect to get a reaction.

So she remains silent, satisfied that the pain is finally starting to dull in her right side. Not that it revitalizes her to have the wood out of her system. She wants to feed, badly. Her skin feels too tight, like the veins are rising to the surface and she can't prevent her fangs from slipping out every now and again.

She's losing it and she knows he can see the cracks.

"I understand that the pain of her passing was too much," Klaus says and she forces her attention back to him, back to glaring at his observations, "That the only solution seemed to not feel at all. A mistake many young vampires make. But you should know that all of it – pleasures and pains – gives you far more when you embrace it. To move forward, you have to experience what you push away one way or another."

All of this is exactly what the Salvatores said to Elena when she was removed from humanity. It's not as if she doesn't know, she just didn't have the strength to care about those things two weeks ago. She was hurting more than she thought was possible and needed relief.

Stefan wasn't there in the way she needed him to be, her friends could only do so much – there hadn't been another option.

"You would know," she huffs before falling into a cough, her throat on fire. She's almost past caring now; blood, water, she just wants something to drink. She closes her eyes, tries to summon the energy to argue back.

His tone drops just slightly. "I've buried more people in the past months than you can imagine, love."

How has he still not understood the concept of her having no humanity, still treating her as though his explanations mean something to her?

Sighing, she opens her eyes again to deign him with an impassive look. "I really… don't care."

"No. But you will."

With that he's got her face back in his hands and even as she struggles to turn away, his grip keeps her right there. It occurs to her that she could shut her eyes, wonders if that would break the compulsion but he's already got her transfixed. The vervain is gone; she's practically a dry shell of a body and has no defences to protect her mind.

His skin against hers is warm and she wants to pull back. The sensation is like drowning in heat and it is overwhelming, pushing her beneath the surface. She's losing sense of her limbs, can only stare into the brilliant irises so close to her own.

"Turn it on, Caroline."


	6. Insatiable need, exquisite pain

**6\. Insatiable need, exquisite pain**

It might just be the worst thing she has ever experienced in her short life. Not even her father's torture comes close; even though his rejection broke her heart and that almost overshadowed the physical pain.

Alaric's abduction and pain infliction was a joke compared to this; his harsh words against vampirism were nothing she hadn't heard before. Hell, even being abducted by werewolves and treated like an animal in a cage was something she managed to overcome.

But this, she doesn't know if she can handle it.

For a moment, she thinks it didn't work at all, that it's all an illusion and she wants to ridicule him for failing once again. Maybe it's the first time his compulsion has no effect for some reason other than vervain.

Nothing seems to be happening. She's only caught in his gaze, the heat and the closeness.

She doesn't notice any change because there's still that indifference inside that has her wanting to ignore any emotions. If anything, she's only pissed at him for doing this, for having control over her. The single motivation is to get out of here.

She's come this far and refuses to let someone else decide that she has to stop at this point. It was her choice, her coping mechanism and she'll be damned if she accepts someone telling her how to live.

It's a beautiful way of deluding herself, she realizes when he finally releases her. With the skin contact broken, the compulsion truly sets in and it makes her walls crumble immediately. She can't stop it, can't even find the dam within her where the flood begins. It's everything at once, so fast she can't process how it started.

One image chases the next, one sensation crashes into the other and she can barely distinguish between joy, grief and desolation. Weaving through everything she has suppressed for the past days is anger.

Everything seems to be rolling forwards at ten times the speed, every emotion that didn't rise to the surface is hitting her now – feelings all the way from the day she buried her mother.

Caroline feels like she can't breathe, is blind with memories rushing through her head. There is Klaus' voice somewhere in the outside world, trying to push through to her but she can't respond. Doesn't know if she wants to because so much of that anger she's drowning in is directed at him too.

He hurt her, he invaded her privacy, he bled her out like livestock today and she wants to lash out at him through the haze.

Beneath all the inner turmoil, she can hear stuttering gasps and comes to realize that they are her own. She has no control over it and her body is communicating for her, letting the sensations escape the only way it can.

The waves of immense grief rage through her first and she can't feel herself anymore. Her body holds her trapped as the sobs wrack through. She can't stop them, all the emotions she shut away a fortnight ago.

They grasp her so hard that she shakes in her restraints. Tears are tracking down her face even though the last thing she wants to do in this situation is cry. She doesn't register that the hybrid cuts through her binds and that the ropes fall away from her body. There's a single word leaving her mouth, over and over in between the sobs and she doesn't even know why she is saying it.

"No, no, no, no, no, no."

She's boneless in the chair without support, sliding to the floor as soon as the ties don't hold her back anymore. There are hands in the way, catching her and gently pulling her against him before she makes impact with the hardwood.

She doesn't want this, doesn't want him here beside her. He caused her pain so he can't be offering comfort. It's wrong, all wrong.

Caroline has no idea what she's doing anymore, only that she wants him gone. It's the single thing she can focus on in the real world. Fury and sorrow are battling inside her and she finds her outlet in hitting him, clawing at his arms in an effort to make him bleed. He should hurt the way she is; she needs him to feel this inner agony just as much.

He doesn't seem phased by her attempts. She knows she's too weak to make an impact and underneath the rasping sobs and the tear-blind eyes, her mind is too overwhelmed to actually cause any damage to him.

Suddenly, there's a mattress under her back. She wants to move away from him as soon as his grip is removed, tries to make her limbs work again but she just can't focus.

There are faces in her head now, every single one staring at her in silent accusation and she struggles to escape. Everybody she killed on this journey, every feed that turned into a corpse. The girl at Whitmore, the guy from the bar, the young wolf, the boy from Tulane. She can't get away from them and the guilt fills her up and makes her choke.

She feels her nails dig into her own arm, tearing into the skin to feel something else. Anything. There's a force holding her back, a tight hold on her hands and she hates him for not allowing her any release. The cries of her victims ring in her ears, they're growing louder but she can't shut them out.

She thinks there are words tumbling from her lips again but she can't hear them, yet alone know whether she is making sense. What is she trying to say, if not that she wants it to stop? What she can see are the people she drained last night and threw under a dumpster, she knows all about their screams before she silenced them.

She listens to the words of the bartender resonating in her mind. The fear in her eyes just before she took away the free will and made her a puppet. She made that woman commit suicide for her own pleasure to prove a point, made herself a monster in the process. Now it's all over. She can't take any of it back, can't atone for ruining so many lives.

There's her name again but it's a different voice saying it. A living one.

She turns her head, blinking her eyes furiously against the wetness. Her vision sharpens enough to make out reality. Klaus is still there and he's still on the edge of the bed trying to get her attention. He let go of her hands at some point, she didn't even notice.

She's not quite sure why fury rises in her at the sight of him but it doesn't matter. She'd rather feel that than what those dead faces are doing to her.

It's white-hot, chasing the tears away and fooling her into thinking she's got the energy to take on this man. He barely has to make an effort to keep her at bay when she lunges forward. It's much too easy to push her back into the pillow, to pin her hands over her head where they can't rip at any clothes and attack the flesh underneath.

This time, she's absolutely sure it's her that's growling at him, trying to kick him before he uses his other arm to hold her against the bed. The sobs are subsiding, not that she has any idea how long she's been crying like this.

Her sandpaper throat is what's guiding her now, has her turning her head to the arm holding her own against the mattress. There's definite shock resonating through him as she digs her teeth into his vein, straight through the cotton. She's parched and desperate. Her anger is translating into undiluted hunger, fuelling her instincts to hold onto her prey at all cost.

Blood is soaking the material and she rips it away impatiently with a hand that's suddenly free to curl around the wrist. All of it is hers; she can't see any of it wasted. She barely registers that he doesn't put up a fight or try to pull away.

The initial adrenalin fades from his blood, there's no resistance to her feeding. Even as she sits up, bends her entire body around the limb, he doesn't move to stop her.

For her, it's the closest thing to heaven.

It's the taste she's been subconsciously craving this entire journey, the one she immediately thought of when she tried that werewolf girl. What she's got on her tongue now is pure power. It makes she ache in her shoulder fade, makes her healing accelerate and most importantly, it starts to quench her burning thirst.

Caroline is dizzy with its impact when the hybrid pulls his arm out of her hands. Despite her attempt, she's not quite strong enough to stop him from decidedly keeping it out of range. It's doubling her anger though; drawing out the emotions she couldn't fully experience in the past hours and directing them at him. Her fangs are still stained red as she reaches for him again, only to be forced back onto the covers.

She is trying to make the faces go away, isn't it obvious? Drinking from him has distracted her but they're back already, waiting on the fringes of her memories. Her mom right in front, a beautiful body in a casket and her eyes are open, pleading with Caroline to help her.

She can't take it because she knows she's no stronger than she was two weeks ago. If anything, she's managed to become more broken.

She can't let the tears start again because she knows they won't stop if she lets herself sink into the feelings from that day. So she thinks about the hunger instead. She'll need more, a solid amount of human blood to fully recover and he's not giving her what she craves.

Straining against his hand on her clavicle doesn't make a difference so she settles for glaring at him through red eyes. He responds with a serious expression but in her sharpening vision, she can see the worry behind it. Not that she believes he is actually concerned about her. Not after the day she's had thanks to him and his brother.

He keeps her in that position for a while, watching her carefully until she has enough self-control to let the tension seep out of her muscles. Minutes are ticking by in which he simply has his eyes fixed on her and she holds the gaze as calmly as she can.

She pretends to be placated, regulates her breathing to the point where she appears to have survived the worst of it. Her cheeks are still wet.

"Are you alright?" are his words and although the anger is still close to the surface, she can almost think clearly through the invasion of emotions now. Can see the ridiculousness of him questioning her like she's the one that has to justify herself.

She shakes her head, not only in denial but also at his phrasing. After witnessing all of this, he can't possibly believe that she is anywhere close to okay. This is a breakdown like nothing she's ever experienced. Or hopes to ever again.

"Never," she whispers into the air between them.

He seems to understand and consciously eases the pressure against her collarbone, withdrawing his hand. That's exactly what she's been waiting for.

Her vampire speed is almost back to its normal capacity so she heaves upwards, eyes already fastened to his jugular. She can sense it through the layers of skin, the recollection of the taste still fresh and she wants that intoxication. How is it that she desires it more than anything human? She's ravenous at the thought of it.

Her teeth are only millimetres away when she's stopped in her motions, head snapping backwards with the sudden obstruction. Hands of steel around her upper arms, pushing her against the mattress again.

The air is pressed from her lungs at the impact and still, she struggles. He's not taking chances this time, shifting his weight onto her instead of just leaning across.

"I need more," she snarls at him, trying unsuccessfully to push a knee upwards.

"You've had enough," he corrects her and it's the fact that he utters it as such a statement that keeps her straining against the hold. He doesn't know what it feels like, sure as hell doesn't know how badly she needs this.

She writhes, trying to slip out from under his body and only resulting in friction that she really doesn't need right now. There's fury, at him making decisions and controlling her when he sees fit – putting her into the position she doesn't want to be in.

Darkening eyes bore into hers and suddenly it occurs to her that he could have simply compelled her to cooperate by now. But he's waiting her out like this, for whatever reason.

"You could just force me to stop," she voices her thoughts, not without accusation ringing through the words, "Why aren't you?"

That's got the corner of his mouth quirking just a bit. "Would you prefer that?"

It's the first time he's giving her a choice in this room and it catches her off guard. Her confusion grows and with it, the other emotions she's been ignoring in favour of bloodlust push back to the forefront. Her breath hitches.

She has to concentrate on banning the shadows back to the depths of her mind before they settle in her chest and squeeze her heart so tightly she can't move. He doesn't wait for an answer.

"I could compel you to you wait here so I can procure the blood you need. Or I could trust you to stay put, for your own good. What will it be, love?"

She swallows. There's no real need to weigh the options of this choice. She makes the decision he knew she would.

"I'll stay."

He seems satisfied enough with that and lifts himself off her. She can feel her circulation starting up again when his fingers relieve her arms. Stretching out her limbs until she has pins and needles in her whole arm.

She stays on the bed as he leaves, listens to the door fall into place and cut off the faint light she saw outside. He doesn't lock it.

She sits up slowly. She's still barefoot and pretty sure the rest of her looks like an absolute mess too. It surprises her that she doesn't really care as much as she usually would. Even with the person she always made sure to look fully put together in front of.

Her mom is back in her thoughts with her gentleness, her kindness, all those years of love until the cancer ate her up. Bone-deep sadness is attaching itself to the memories. It almost overpowers her current aggravation but she doesn't let it.

She's too afraid to think about anything so she starts making lists in her head, the one thing that always serves as a distraction. How about pros and cons of disobeying the hybrid and getting out of here?

With the basic task, rationality slowly settles back over her and she clings onto it. Organising things has always put her at ease; she just needs to keep her thoughts occupied long enough until her subconscious can deal with everything.

What good will it do to try and escape now? She won't get far with the sun out and where can she go anyway? She's alone without an actual plan of how to leave this city. All her things are in that apartment, she has no clue whether the car is still there and the destination ... she thinks of home and knows that she can't call them.

It would mean facing the terrible things she put them through and she doesn't think she can cope with it, not right now. Despite all the conflicted emotions she has right now, Klaus is the only person she knows in this city and his intentions seem to be unusually selfless.

Completely overlooking the fact that she's technically his prisoner at the moment, he is here with her even though she murdered someone he was close to. Her indifference is steadily vanishing; she is in touch with her feelings again. At least the ones she had up until he left for good.

Her eyes are burning again and although she tries, the tears slip through anyway. God, what has she done? She's become the creature she's worked so hard to keep at bay these past years.

Caroline Forbes is a girl with morals, with a good heart and never-ending loyalty to the ones she cares for. That person seems so far away now, as though these weeks have changed her from the inside out. She's not the same person and that scares her.

She stares at the chair with the rope haphazardly hanging from its sides. It blurs every now and again but this time, the tears don't go away when she wills them to. What were those five stages of grief again? She took that psych class with Elena last semester; she knows this.

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. But everything is so muddled, she can't even pinpoint where she is on that timeline. She also wouldn't know how to deal with whatever stage she is in.

Raking her hands though her hair, she tries to breathe through the drops running in a continuous stream, past her lips, over her chin. She can't decide on what she wants to cope with less – her mom's passing or the people she killed on her emotionless rampage.

They're both almost equally horrible things from where she's standing.

Then there's what she did to Stefan when she knew exactly how dangerous it is for him to lose his humanity. It'll be a miracle if he can forgive her for that. More guilt settling on her chest like a heavy weight and she presses her fists against her forehead.

Lists, she thinks, concentrate on the lists.

She knows the easiest place to start would be an apology because Camille, whoever the woman was and whatever connection she had to the Mikaelsons, didn't deserve what she did to her. Nobody deserves that.

She knows what it's like to grieve and she made a lot of people mourn for the bartender. For the first time, she didn't do it to save someone and that makes the guilt so much worse.

A pillow is firmly squished in her grasp, her knees pulled up to her chest and her head buried in the cotton case when he returns. She hears his footsteps pause in the doorway when he sees her, can imagine him taking a moment to decide how to approach her.

There's the dent of the mattress under his weight and the soft noise of blood bags hitting the covers. Caroline doesn't move, breathing into the feather pillow.

She tries to ignore the hand on her hair that exerts a soothing pressure, running across the curls with gentleness she didn't expect from him.

But in the end, she's a twenty-year-old in a seventeen-year-old body who lost the most important person in the world, alienated her friends and killed more than a dozen innocent strangers for her own pleasure in the span of two weeks. In light of how horrible she feels she can accept the comfort now.

She raises her head and he removes his touch instantly, giving her space.

"You didn't run," he states the obvious, searching her face.

"How far would I get?" she asks rhetorically and moves a wet strand away from her eyes, trying to regain composure by not meeting his gaze.

He offers her a bag and she accepts wordlessly, twisting off the top and bunching the plastic in her hands as she takes deep gulps. She can almost appreciate that he didn't bring her a person because she can't handle drinking from a human after all that she's done recently.

She finishes the second one as well before either of them speaks again and licks the remains off her fingers while examining the pillow again. Not a single drop on the covers, she notes and finds some solace in that. She's really holding onto the little things but it's starting to help. The neurotic control-freak is back and she welcomes it because at least she's familiar.

"You're helping me even though there's nothing in it for you," she says quietly, not removing her eyes from the bed.

She leaves it hanging there, can't quite make herself ask explicitly what the catch is, because there has to be one. There always is. Inwardly wondering why she's even posing that question when it's the least of her problems at the minute.

"Preventing you from doing more damage isn't entirely selfless, sweetheart. Believe it or not, you're not the first vampire without humanity that I've dealt with," he replies and there's enough warmth in the tone that she dares to look at him, "It ends well for some and not so well for others."

She wonders if he's thinking of Stefan and the way he manipulated him for purely selfish reasons. Not that it worked out in the end. Her situation isn't all that different, she realizes.

The same premise of the Original hybrid simply doing what he wants because it suits him, no matter what others want. Just like the person he was when he first came into their lives.

"You took the choice away from me," there's the anger again and she holds onto it, "You made me go through this because _you_ wanted me to feel again. Yes, I made a mistake coming here in the first place but that doesn't give you the right…"

"What you felt today was just the product of a few weeks. Imagine what months would have been like. A year. A decade. Some people don't come back from that so easily," he counters and she thinks she can see a spark of anger in him too, "I spared you pain."

She's not convinced. "Don't tell me it's because you care so much. I _killed_ your friend."

He's quiet for a second but holds her gaze, even as his voice drops a notch. "You did. Another casualty on my account. She was a friend, a loyal one, and she paid for trusting me to keep her safe in this city, even after everything that happened."

She can't believe what she's hearing, can't even process that he is shouldering the blame – for what? To make her feel better about herself? Even if that was something he'd do for anyone, it wouldn't make it okay. If she is one thing it's honest to a fault and she has to be brutally truthful with herself when it comes to admitting a mistake.

"Are you seriously trying to convince me it wasn't my fault? I happened to find someone here who had a personal connection to you and I used that against you. You don't even know half of it. I broke into her apartment, tied her up and bled her out so she could be compelled. That's a level of diabolical I never thought I was capable of and I did it just so that I could get back at you for doing what I should have known about anyway. I can't make excuses for that."

"Caroline…" he starts but she's talked herself into a frenzy now and doesn't let him get a word in. She tosses the pillow aside, sitting up in her attempt to make him understand what is going on here. She won't let him twist the facts.

"No! Don't even try to be … I don't know, honourable about this. I made that choice, I forced her to do it and you are not taking that away. I made her commit suicide because I enjoyed making both of you suffer and I have to live with that now. Just like I have to live with all the others I used and killed on the way. Just like I have to deal with my mom's ..."

She catches her breath at that last part. She didn't mean to add that but now it's there, filling with space with the real cause of all this chaos. The thing that started her on this path in the first place.

"I'm sorry about the Sheriff," he tells her, "Stefan informed me of her passing. It's a cruel way to go, cancer."

She can only nod, marvel that he chooses to speak about it with such sincerity after what she's just said. Condolence is not something she expected to come to him naturally, always having thought of him being immune to death. At least outside his own family.

She catches herself thinking that becoming a father really has changed him but quickly dismisses it. She's probably still imagining things. Klaus will still always be Klaus.

"I don't want to talk about her," she can feel that rift inside her opening again at the mention of Liz and she refuses to face the grief. She can't yet.

He dips his head in acknowledgement, absentmindedly rolling up the bloodied sleeve that she managed to tear in her feeding frenzy. She's strangely relieved that she can feel embarrassment at how she ruined the button-up and almost misses his suggestion.

"I suppose you'll want to inform your friends about your current situation."

"I'm…" she starts, then thinks again. She thinks of the reactions, of facing Elena who tried to prevent her from switching it off in the first place, of speaking to Stefan whose life she almost destroyed. Decides it's really not a good idea. "No"

That gets her a curious look and she clears her throat, looking at her feet. It doesn't take him long to piece her reluctance and the previous behaviour together.

"You stirred some trouble."

She should tell him that it's really none of his business and that he should stop making assumptions. Too bad he's got it all exactly right, as usual. She runs a hand through her hair, tucks it behind her ear to have something to do. Little things. When she realizes he's still waiting for an answer, she sighs.

"If I call them, they'll want to know where I am so they can come to take me home. They'll want to know what I was doing and I don't think I can handle that right now. Not when I haven't even started to deal with what happened."

Instead of prying, he reads between the lines and draws a conclusion that she hasn't actually thought about yet.

"So you want to stay."

Caroline snaps to attention, locking gazes with him again. She wants to refuse out of principle but, a moment later, realizes that she doesn't have a clue what she wants.

She thought she wanted him to be gone and leave her alone but now, in this conversation that has somehow morphed from angry to sympathetic, she finds she needs company to keep her mind occupied.

But remain here? In this house, as his guest? In the city that he seems to be practically ruling, meaning the place is crawling with people who hate him and by extension, anyone he considers a friend?

Not only that it's entirely absurd, considering the fact that she delivered him a letter that told him to go to hell as well as a corpse to go with the message, but she figures there are strings attached to something like that. She doesn't trust this generosity.

Maybe it's his way of trying to make up for the treatment today but staying here, with him and Elijah and probably even Rebekah roaming the house, sounds like a terrible plan.

There's a familiarity between them that isn't quite so tangible after the months of distance and yet she can feel it now, still simmering between them as they sit here. A remaining attachment that makes his proposal strangely reasonable. She slept with him, for god's sake; technically she should have no issue whatsoever accepting a place to spend the night.

But then there's that word he used. Does she _want_ to stay here? It feels more like there is no other option right now. She can't be alone in a hotel room tonight; she knows it would send her spiralling.

She's afraid of sleeping at all because her dreams are bound to be full of the dead. He provides safety just by staying beside her and that unnerves her. How can he still have that effect after she tried so hard to get him out of her system?

It seems the hybrid knows her better than she knows herself. For some crazy reason, she does want to be here, despite what has been done to her. Or maybe because it is starting to sink in that he probably did it, even if it was selfish, to bring her old self back. For her sake.

Either way, she has her answer.

"Elijah happened to invite me for breakfast yesterday," she sidesteps a direct response and doesn't miss the way his lips turn up as he notices.

"How gallant of him," Klaus doesn't seem too surprised.

"He told you where I was, didn't he?" she is curious whether she is right about that, "He knew I was planning something."

"My brother has an exceptional talent for locating trouble before it manifests. Quite useful except for times when he directs that sixth sense at me," he admits; sounding patronized enough to rouse a weak smile from her.

It's so normal, this kind of sibling bickering but she can't really make it fit into her picture of him. Not when she knows he is the same person that daggers his siblings when they get on his bad side.

He stands up then, reaching for the empty blood bags. Caroline also moves from her spot against the headboard, swinging her legs over the side of the bed to feel the floorboards under her toes.

She rubs her palms over her face, touches the salt tracks on her skin. She still feels like an absolute mess but she's got composure back now. It's what she needs most.

Another thought occurs to her. She doesn't know if she should expect an honest answer but she turns to him anyway. It's wild speculation and she's unsure if she wants to hear the truth because of what it might mean.

She asks him anyway.

"If someone else had done this, you would have killed the person. You would have taken revenge if you had the chance but you made an exception. For me."

He pauses in his motions of collecting the lengths of rope, twists around where he stands to look at her. She can't quite make out his expression in the shadow that the overhead lamp casts. But she does pick up the change in tone when he reminds her, "I think we've established on several occasions that I don't wish to kill you, Caroline."

She lets him sidestep that one just as she did earlier because it confirms her suspicions. His indirect answer makes her watch his back as he heads out of the room. It lets her close her eyes and think about just how lucky she is that the hybrid is possibly maybe still in love with her.


	7. All you can do is move on

**7\. All you can do is move on**

The water warms her but it doesn't chase away the images in her mind. It can't cleanse her in the way she wishes it would. Caroline alternates between pressing her forehead against the steamy tiles of the bathroom wall and clenching her fingers into her skin, the sharp sensation keeping her in the present.

No more blood on her skin but she can feel it all, covering her with invisible shame. It's phantom blood and not her own. She's been very meticulous in keeping all her victims' blood from staining anything.

Her skin is unblemished but what's underneath has her wanting to hide away from the world. She's not one to wallow in self-pity, at least not anymore, but she's terrified of her own head right now.

In some ways she's glad that the day is only beginning now and she doesn't have to try and sleep. She has a breakfast with the Original family to survive and decisions to make and coping mechanisms to find so she can come to terms with these past weeks. She also has Klaus to figure out.

When he handed back her ring and showed her to a new room, one with a balcony and adjoining bathroom, he had this look on his face that she couldn't place. It made her nervous. He departed without another comment, leaving her to clean herself up. She hasn't quite decided yet if she is glad to have solitude back for a while.

She knows that she's already back to being attentive to every single one of his motions, trying to understand his intentions before he can spring the unexpected on her. Her emotionless self didn't care and wasn't afraid of handling him just like she would deal with anyone else in her way. She must have picked up something from her unscrupulous sire.

She can't do that now though, can't be so callous because she's agreed to remain under his roof for the time being. They are back to playing the guessing game with each other and she is trying to comprehend why he is offering her his hospitality.

Maybe it's the hope of picking up where they left off months ago? It's been little over a year and still, he has kept his promise to her.

She sought him out so it was her free decision to come here, albeit with no pleasant intentions. She's done her part in causing trouble and has no actual idea about how he's taking it. So preoccupied with herself just now, she wasn't able to read him at all.

She's not so foolhardy to presume to know what's happened in his life since leaving Virginia; most of his goals could have changed. No more hybrid army in the making, no more interest in the Doppelganger.

More than that, she's thinking about his blood again and really doesn't understand why. She's entirely satiated now and has no reason to be craving any more. The way that the taste sparked a longing inside her, for what exactly she doesn't know. Just more. It adds to the confusion of her feelings and she hopes it will pass.

There's a dress laid out on the bed when she returns to the room and she doesn't question its origins. Probably something out of Rebekah's closet, unless there's another girl staying in this household that's about her size.

The expensive material has her guessing it's probably the Original vampire's choice of clothing. Not that she has anything else to wear so she tugs the cream fabric over her head.

On the bedside table, she spots her bag and sighs in relief. She has everything in there; it would have been a disaster to have to deal with a missing wallet or passport if it had been lost during yesterday's events.

She retrieves her phone and scrolls through the calls she noticed the morning before. All from Klaus, in short succession and she knows exactly what provoked them. Also a message from Stefan.

11:24. _There's a letter for you at Whitmore, from your mom. I thought you'd want to know._

Her eyes grow wide as she reads the words and she doesn't understand. What does he mean? Why would her mom have sent her a letter before her passing? She drops the phone onto the covers before she loses her resolve and calls him.

She can't yet, no matter how desperate she is to know what he is talking about. This new information … Liz' face is in front of her inner eye again and she wants to reach out, hold her but knows she can't. Ever again.

Tears are burning in the corners of her eyes but she furiously blinks them away. She can't let herself go today. Or tomorrow. What was that advice Damon, of all people, gave her? Not the first week will be the hardest - it's the second.

She plans to stay strong until then because if she can manage that, she knows she will survive the weeks to follow. She can't allow herself to fall into the pit that made her shut off her humanity in the first place.

In her continued search for distraction, she ends up on the balcony, feeling the sunshine dance on her skin without burning her alive. Her hair dries in the breeze and she takes comfort in the fact that life on the streets seems to be going on as always. All the lives she hasn't ruined in her stay here. Not that it makes up for the ones she took.

The lapis lazuli glints on her finger and she twists the ring around, realizes she can't really remember what she did with the one she took from Klaus' minion. She honestly hopes the poor man survived their encounter.

Not that Klaus' subordinates usually have happy endings but she is responsible for someone close to him dying. She's sorry about that too, the guy obviously didn't even know what he was spying on her for.

The thought of the hybrid has her thinking of the way his vein pulsed against her tongue again and she furrows her brow. Why is that experience circling around in her head? It was nothing but an instinctive reaction, both because she was hungry and angry. She is definitely not thinking about how the power felt running down her throat, not at all.

Searching for a new distraction, she nudges a loose tile with her toe, feels its smooth texture under her foot.

She almost jumps when his hands close around the railing beside her. She never even heard him coming in and that alone has the nervousness return like a kick to her gut. God, these unstable emotions are taking a toll on her ability to stay nonchalant in his presence. She notes that he's changed as well, grey shirt and jeans matching the more relaxed demeanour she senses in him.

"You don't wear any colour," she remarks and is instantly confused as to why she even comments on it. It's not something she consciously questioned before. Black is always the colour of the villains, is it not?

He tilts his head downwards, watches the heads of the people passing by. The corner of his mouth lifts though when he tells her, "I save that for my paintings."

Caroline presses her lips together to avoid telling him that blue would really work on him. She's not here to give him style advice, not here to do anything for him actually. It's probably just a matter of time until he reveals to her what he expects in return for letting her stay and until then, she'll just have to wait and see.

"How are you feeling, love?" he asks in the midst of her thoughts and she catches him looking at her attentively.

She can only think of one thing that is somewhat honest when it comes to her inner chaos, "More like myself, I guess."

He shrugs as he straightens from leaning onto the banister. "You were never really not yourself. Simply the most stripped-down, instinctual vampire version that was true to her nature without regard for others."

"Apparently you didn't like that version enough to keep her around," she doesn't have to elaborate that she didn't either, "Or you wouldn't have forced me to let my emotions back in."

"Under different circumstances I could have enjoyed her," he's looking at her in that way again, the one that she can't make sense of but his words practically invite her to read between the lines, "At another time, I might have let her run free here to do as she pleases. I might even have joined in. But then, I already knew who you truly are and I happen to prefer the side of you that feels something beyond the thrill of hunting."

And there she is, thinking about his blood under her fingertips again. She can't believe that his easygoing honesty has her sliding right back into that memory and lusting for the taste again. Something is really wrong with her today.

She focuses on the intricate building opposite again, breaking the connection of their eye contact and the immense need to bury her fangs in his neck.

"That still doesn't make it your decision to force me back to humanity," she responds instead of letting the statement get to her. He shouldn't forget that he removed her free will today to make her obey and that she's not giving up on her anger that easily, "I set myself a year of living that way and you took that away from me."

He doesn't seem chastised at all, rather amused.

"A year? Sweetheart, unless somebody put you in this exact position you would never have returned to yourself by your own volition. No vampire without humanity has that kind of control. You need a pressure point and that can be harder to find than you think when you have cut the ties to what used to be important. You'd be denying your instinctual urges and after a year, I doubt you'd remember why you ever wanted to regain your emotions."

She hasn't even realized that her gaze has drifted back to his neck and catches herself, narrowing her eyes at him instead. "When I make plans, I stick to them."

That knowing smile again. "Let's talk about this in a year and we'll see if you still believe it. Until then, we shouldn't keep Elijah waiting with breakfast. He's become very particular about family meals."

"Wait," she blurts out, makes him stop mid-step. She swallows, suddenly unsure of how to formulate it, "I … I know Camille was your friend. She looked out for you and I'm sure she meant something to you too, otherwise you wouldn't have ... look, I never wanted other people to get hurt when I turned it off and I'd take this back if I could."

He obviously didn't expect that kind of admittance and turns away for a moment. She wonders what he doesn't want her to see because when he faces her again, there's a different kind of composure in his features.

"She was human," he murmurs, looking into middle distance, "It would have happened eventually. Possibly even by my hand under the wrong circumstances."

That's not quite the reply she thought she'd get. "What?"

He seems to get a grip, faces her with a frown that tells her he doesn't want to speak about it. "It's best not to dwell on the dead. Especially not in this city."

She can't find any words to argue with him, can only watch as he walks back inside with long strides. She's unsettled something, clearly, but obviously prodding for more is just going to set him off. Neither of them need that right now.

So she follows him out of the room, down a staircase and across the expansive courtyard she saw earlier. This place could literally hold a whole royal household, which is probably what it was used for earlier in the century.

It seems almost too big for a family of three all alone. Privacy is one thing but with such emptiness, she thinks it can easily turn into a lonely place.

Her feet feel the cool concrete of the courtyard turn into polished wood as they head into a different wing and he holds the door open for her, letting her move into the dining room.

He's lost some of that ease with the conversation about the dead bartender and she sighs inwardly. Now there are just two more dangerous siblings to handle without getting herself killed.

Way to start the day, Caroline.

That thought is quickly forgotten when she sees what's waiting for her inside. The sheer amount of food isn't what makes her stare, not even the expensive furnishing or the way the candles make the entire room glow with warm light.

What really makes her freeze several steps inside is the sight of the child settled in the oldest Mikaelson's arms. The baby that should have been impossible and that she would never have believed if that warlock hadn't spoken of it with such distaste.

Caroline has to admit she's a beautiful little thing, with big blue eyes taking in the newcomer as she holds onto her uncle's suit lapel. It's hard to process that the werewolf who caused so much damage in Mystic Falls is the mother to this baby.

She truly doesn't like the girl and really doesn't know how she would react if she joined the scene now. After everything that happened with Tyler and her friends, with Klaus and his hybrid pack, she blames that wolf for a lot of things.

The bartender mentioned something about her being away from the child at the moment but she didn't pay attention to it at the time. She wonders if Hayley stays in this compound too, what kind of relationship this family has with her.

The image of the werewolf and Klaus creeps her out more than it should because by the looks of the child, who can't be more than a year old, they must have been together when he was still in Virginia. Way before she met him that day in the woods.

It shouldn't make her angry after all this time but it does.

Elijah takes it upon himself to break the silence by clearing his throat, welcoming her with a nod. He still appears suspicious but friendlier compared to when he nailed her to the chair yesterday. Nearly twenty-four hours later, she's someone different and he is still as polite as ever. She can't tear her eyes from the toddler.

"This is Hope," the eldest Original informs her.

"I know," she manages to say, focusing on Elijah before the eyes that are so much like Klaus' swallow her up with their innocent gaze, "I've heard about her."

"I suppose news of a miracle child will even make it as far as Mystic Falls," he admits and she quickly shakes her head, clarifying that she picked up the knowledge in New Orleans. The Original looks over her shoulder at his brother, "We did attempt to keep her existence hidden before and that didn't work out the way it should have."

Then there's Klaus' hand on her back, guiding to one of the chairs.

"Enough talk of the past," he decides firmly and she can imagine the look he shoots his brother to silence him on the subject, "We've had enough grief recently, no need to bring any of it up again when the future is far more promising."

She doesn't even want to start interpreting that as he settles on the chair beside her.

"And what exactly are you talking about now?" comes another voice from the doorway and Caroline looks around to find the speaker standing there, all dark clothes and sharp eyes, just like the other Mikaelsons.

She's never met this girl before but she is instantly reminded of Liv and her no-bullshit attitude. The leather jacket and boots make her fit right in; she seems to be the edgy female counter piece to these men.

"Freya," Elijah greets the dark blonde as she walks in to stand beside him and strokes the baby's cheek in affection, "We're hosting a guest this morning, an acquaintance from Klaus' time before New Orleans. Miss Forbes, this is our sister Freya. Sister, meet Caroline Forbes."

 _Another_ sibling, they've got to be kidding. She almost can't believe what she's hearing but stares at the woman just as unabashedly as she looked at the baby earlier, entirely bewildered.

Is this another one that Klaus had daggered somewhere outside Mystic Falls? Or maybe a sibling that miraculously managed to lead her own life away from the others this whole time?

She watches in stunned silence as the young woman takes Hope from the Original and puts her in the high chair at the end of the table.

"So you're the one that killed the human," the blonde sizes her up as she sits down beside the baby, "With what I know of my brother, I'm surprised you're still here and breathing."

"Her humanity has returned, I am told," Elijah jumps in before she can reply anything to that and he pulls out the chair across from his brother, helping himself to a beignet, "I assume Niklaus is letting you stay to make amends for what has transpired."

"Brother…" Klaus starts but Caroline cuts in then, still mulling over the previous introduction and how this makes no sense at all.

"Now wait a minute, I don't get it. Where did you come from? I thought there are only five siblings in this family."

"Considering that two are dead at the minute, there are four," Klaus explains between sips of coffee, "And Freya happens to be a living witch whom we believed to be gone forever since we were children. As it turns out, our aunt kept her away from the rest of family for centuries and dabbled with certain dark magic to make both of them immortal, so here we are, a thousand years down the road and reunited."

She should really learn to just accept these impossibilities and the supernatural craziness as something normal. After all, supposedly dead people keep coming back to life all the time. She has no idea how often Jeremy has been revived or Alaric brought back from death, doesn't even want to get started on how many times Matt has been killed – so there seems to be no end to what complicated witch power can do. Why should this be surprising?

Even so, that still leaves one chair at the table unaccounted for.

"What about Rebekah?"

She's almost expecting to hear that the vampire has been daggered back into a coffin but she suspects the oldest brother wouldn't have any of that. Elijah takes this one.

"Our dearest sister has decided to leave New Orleans to embark on a journey of self-reflection in the body of a mortal. Freya was kind enough to transfer her spirit into a witch. She fares quite well without her vampirism, actually."

"Right," is all she can reply and bites into a croissant to avoid saying anything else.

There's a drawn out silence in which the new sister watches her over a bowl of watermelon salad and Caroline feels caught in the midst of something she shouldn't be in. There's obviously no appreciation for her on the other side of the table.

She glances at the baby who is happily chewing on the fruit mush that Freya feeds her and knows that the little girl is probably the only person at the table not judging her right now.

She's being equally hard on herself for what she's done and the witch simply voiced what she was thinking earlier. Had she been someone else, Klaus would have surely disposed of her without a second thought.

"What I was talking about are Elijah's plans to rescue the Crescent pack from their predicament," Klaus is addressing the witch, concerning her earlier question, "And our situation with the witches that could easily be dealt with if you agreed to form an alliance."

"The predicament you put the wolves in," the older vampire reminds him with a look that tells Caroline he's not at all pleased with the hybrid. As if she doesn't already know that it's a bad idea to be a guest in this city, a guest to this dangerous family with its constant feuds.

"And willing to reverse, as I've told you," Klaus emphasizes.

The other vampire narrows his eyes.

"Make no mistake brother, when the next full moon rises they will lash out while they have their human form. Hayley has assured me that unrest has been building these past two months; they are not taking their situation lightly anymore. We cannot be certain that Hope will be safe from harm. I'd rather they were released from the curse before that happens, so that amends may be made without bloodshed."

"Because you know just how effective it is to negotiate with angry wolves," Klaus empties his cup, "We can always leave town with her for a night, should there be a crisis. We have ten days until the next moon. In any case, our all-powerful witch sister here has been working on reversing the spell in order to nullify its effects. If that doesn't satisfy you, you can always try to convince dearest Davina to use her newfound power to do it."

Freya simply raises her eyebrows at the mention of her name but says nothing, focusing on getting the baby to finish the meal. The brothers are silent, locking gazes in an unspoken match of dominance. Caroline dusts the crumbs off her fingers, pointedly looking at her plate.

So this is what a breakfast with the family looks like. She doesn't know if she can put up with it for the next couple of days. Maybe leaving really is the better option before she gets pulled into any of these issues.

She turns to the hybrid, wants to say something that will dispel the tension hovering over the table but finds herself pausing. There's a vein throbbing in the side of his neck and she is drawn to it instantly, trying not to stare despite being able to sense the rush of blood under the skin. Her fangs are itching in their gums and she only snaps to attention when Elijah addresses her.

"And how long will you be staying here, Miss Forbes?"

"Caroline," she stresses, feeling far too involved here for him to still speak so formally, "I haven't made a plan yet. I can't go back to Mystic Falls right now but it's a problem, I …"

"It's not," Klaus assures her before she can list any alternatives, throwing his brother a glance, "You can stay as long as you wish."

The witch speaks up then and in the tone of her voice, Caroline can hear every bit of mistrust directed at her. "And as always, you would have us accept your decision on that, brother. The question is, will she try to kill someone else while she's here?"

"I would never touch the baby, if that's what you're talking about," she snaps right back at the blonde, outraged that she would even consider that. Like she would lay a hand on a helpless infant. She may be a vampire but she's far from a lunatic serial killer with a taste for children, "I didn't come here to kill anyone."

Cold eyes disagree with her and the girl remains indifferent, taking a sip of her orange juice before speaking. "The evidence speaks against you, doesn't it?"

"I wasn't myself up until this morning," she defends herself, realizing how ridiculous it sounds even if it's the complete truth. How to explain having no humanity to a person that is not a vampire? She doesn't even know if anyone in the Original family ever flipped the switch, come to think of it.

The older girl puts down the baby's spoon and leans forward.

"Look, I don't know you. But I've been inside my brother's head before and I know he had an attachment to that human just like he has one to you. So there's grief and affection involved here, which basically means he can't judge the whole situation objectively and shouldn't be the one to decide if you're safe to stay around this baby."

"Enough," Klaus speaks up on her right with warning in his voice, clearly irritated at the comment on his feelings but Caroline has already had it. She bends over the table as well, pinning the witch with her best condescending expression.

"I am _not_ a murderer. If I was, that baby wouldn't even be sitting here right now."

That results in a highly uncomfortable stretch of silence and Caroline leans back in her seat, demonstratively taking one of the beignets that Elijah recommended so highly during their meeting.

The older brother actually looks somewhat impressed by her rebuff, although his eyes immediately move to the child squirming in her chair. Freya continues in her offensive glare, the baby feeding all but forgotten as she stares her down.

The hybrid is the one that settles the dilemma with decisive words. "She's staying."

Obviously having some experience with contradicting the stubborn ones in this family, the witch seeks help from the vampire beside her. "Elijah?"

"She may remain here," he also concedes after a moment of contemplation, "But you are responsible for her actions, Niklaus. I've told you before; I did not return to stand by your side in any more scheming but to support Hope because her mother has asked me to. Should anything, and I mean anything at all, alert me to a threat residing here I will not hesitate to take care of it."

Nobody needs any more clarification of what exactly he is referring to. Caroline clenches her fingers into a fist under the table, very much questioning why she wanted to stay here in the first place.

It's probably best to either pull a Rapunzel and lock herself in the room she's been given, as far away from the child as possible, or spend the entire day away from this compound and avert any suspicions. Screw that, she should have the common sense to leave.

Klaus doesn't look pleased either but he holds his tongue, instead rising from his chair and leaving the room. Caroline focuses on helping herself to the fruit salad, avoiding the looks from the other two.

She's surprised when Elijah addresses her after several minutes of quiet chewing around the table, only broken by the cheery cooing from the baby. He is pouring himself another cup of tea and drops the question, casually, as though he didn't just implicitly threaten her life.

"What is it that you are doing now, Caroline? I take it you have been busy since graduating."

She takes a little to process because it's seems too trivial a topic for her to give him a good answer. She doubts he's truly interested, more likely gathering information about her in case he needs it. She keeps it short because there's really no need to get him up to date on everything they've been dealing with back in Mystic Falls – from that insane Gemini coven to prison worlds and twisted scientists at Whitmore. No, definitely too much information to share.

"I'm in college. Majoring in drama. Although Stefan killed the head of the department last week so I'll probably have to change when I get back."

That rouses a smile from him as he nips at his tea. "Fitting," is all he says and she doesn't ask whether he means her choice of subject or her friend's actions.

Klaus returns in that moment, holding a brimming glass out to her. She accepts and glances up to see him taking a long drink from his own, red drops running down the glass as he sets it on the table.

Her throat instantly feels dry and her senses sharpen, catching the scent of the warm liquid, straight from the source. It's not the kind has been craving this entire morning but she takes the tumbler anyway, tipping back the contents.

"Who's was it?" she asks, when the veins under her eyes have receded but the thirst for a different kind of blood remains.

"The butler's," her host swirls his own glass around, liquid life in his hand and catches her gaze, "Don't worry, love, he's being paid for it."

She doesn't answer, staring at the empty tumbler and seeing bodies behind it. The conversation around her turns into dim noise and her mental images are taking over, no matter how much she struggles. All those humans she drank from since leaving home, the overly large number of them that didn't make it.

That bartender she stayed with and used as her personal blood bank for a weekend. She made him forget but that feeling of being exploited will always remain in him and he won't understand why.

She pushes the glass aside; tries to finish what's on her plate but the faces are back now and watching her from the other end of the room. She looks away but they're in every corner, keeping track of her motions. She closes her eyes and tries to think of something in the present that's important, that she can cling to. Something practical.

"I should probably get my things from the apartment."

"No need," Klaus informs her and instantly her opportunity for a distraction vanishes, "They were collected yesterday when I had the body removed. A call and they'll be brought here."

"What body?" Elijah is alert again, looking at the hybrid over the rim of his cup. Even Freya grants him her attention again, eyebrows furrowed.

He shrugs with such a guiltless expression on his face that she wishes she could mirror it with her own situation. "Just a casualty on the way to retrieving Caroline. A student who should have been more cooperative. I made arrangements to cover the tracks."

"Good," the Original concedes, "We can't have the witches becoming aware of any deaths around the Quarter, they are on edge as it is. Marcel is having trouble reaching out to Davina since the funeral, he said she's come to delude herself it is a conspiracy from the vampires. Meaning us."

Funeral. Flowers. Her mother in a coffin. Her own voice floating over the crowd of people honouring Liz Forbes, the black figures stretching to the corners of the church. The pain of realizing that the body lying there was truly the person she had lived with, been raised by and cared for deeply her entire life. Taken away with no chance of being revived, leaving her to break apart.

Caroline presses her fingers against her temple, willing the images to disappear. It doesn't work. She needs air. Now.

Rising from the table and barely managing to excuse herself, she heads straight through the double doors towards the courtyard. The boy from Whitmore that she compelled into a heart attack waits for her in the corridor, watching her silently as she walks past. She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut again. She needs to stop seeing them.

"Caroline," she hears him behind her a moment later but ignores it, striding across the sunlit square. He'll catch up to her, she knows, but what's more important is sidestepping the body of the teenage wolf girl who stares up at her with an unnaturally tilted neck.

There's her mom again, standing beside the gates she's about to reach with cancer-drawn cheekbones and sad, disappointed eyes. She stops abruptly, turns to escape in the other direction and almost collides with the hybrid.

His expression is one of question but over his shoulder the couple from the other night are watching her with distressed faces, bloody hands around each other's waist and necks ripped open.

Damn it, why is this happening to her now? She was doing so well this whole time. She must look as anxious as she's feeling because he puts a hand on her arm, anchoring her in place as she continues to search for a way out.

"Don't," she warns him, trying to back up. He doesn't give her that room and she focuses on him for a second, voice unsteady, "Let me go."

Pausing turns out to be a mistake because as soon as she zeroes her attention in on him, there's that vein back in her field of vision, pulsing gently in front of her. Blood that will make the faces go away, just like last time and she finds that the thought of running is suddenly gone.

She just needs him off guard so she can get close enough. She's trembling by now, isn't sure whether its fear or anticipation, so it's not difficult to convince him that something is affecting her.

She doesn't hear him asking what's wrong because she's already folding into his body, letting the fight drain out of her and instead wrapping arms around his neck. Acting as though she's seeking consolation in his embrace.

In his surprise, he doesn't react immediately and she waits, shaking with suppressed agitation, until the warmth of his hands circles her back and pulls her in.

Caroline holds onto him tightly even as she glances over his shoulder at the boy from Tulane, standing there with his open throat just two strides away. She averts her gaze, breathes in once, lets it out and watches the flesh rise in goose bumps just over his necklaces.

Then she bites down.


	8. The greater the loss, the deeper the cut

**8.** **The greater the loss, the deeper the cut**

She is violent, uncontrolled and puts up a fight as he starts to push her away. Her eyes open again to find that the dead shadows are gone but she still clings to him, hands digging into his shoulders and teeth scraping against the wound. She's not taking any chances because as long as his blood keeps the world shut out, she is safe.

He's got her by the arms, pulling her away and she digs her nails in deeper. Tearing the fabric on his back, she uses her body against him in the most effective way she can while feeding. She's not going to stop, not when this remedy is working.

Then there's a hand around her throat and brick against her back, her source of relief just out of reach as the impact throws her off. She looks into the hybrid's face; the threatening gold of werewolf eyes burning through her.

She still can't get enough.

"Let me go," she hisses through her fangs, not so pleasantly this time.

He's not exerting enough pressure on her neck to have her choking, simply keeping her pinned against the wall and she knows she can find an opening if she distracts him. He's staring at her, confusion painting his face and obviously fighting the instinctual reaction of biting back.

"What are you doing?" he growls his question.

She can barely pay attention as the wound heals in front of her eyes. All she can think about is how much she wants to reopen that vein. His brow furrows at her response, it's not hard to guess what her gaze is fixed on.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she snaps, her own hand coming up to dig into the wrist that holds her.

It doesn't exactly make a difference but at least the scraping of his bones under her hold makes her feel better. She's breathing harshly even though he's not obstructing her windpipe and realizes it's her body showing symptoms of stress. Anxiety about losing access to the blood, her source of freedom.

Klaus is studying her. She can practically see the wheels turning in his head as he pieces the evidence of today's behaviour together, this irregular action of a vampire feeding from anything other than human or animal.

It takes another handful of seconds of her struggling against his unrelenting grip and her vampire features betraying how adamant she is about it, before he suddenly makes a sound of comprehension.

It's her turn to be confused when his eyes widen just a fraction, a frown creeping across his face. She stops trying to actively break his arm. Swallowing heavily, she tastes him in the back of her throat. It's got the desire flaring up again but she tries to breathe around it, focusing on his change of demeanour.

He blinks, the iris returning to its normal state and she dares to think he might not retaliate after all.

"I didn't expect this," he remarks, gaze moving up from his hand on her neck, "Of all things, you focused on me?"

The bizarreness of the statement has the veins under her eyes receding in accordance with his. She has no idea what he is talking about. For all she understands he is giving her another one of his cryptic riddles to solve.

He's already surprisingly calm again for someone who just got his neck torn open when he expected to be offering her comfort. This new understanding seems to have placated his feral side in no time.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she faintly moves her head in the little room she has, feels her fangs retreating as her focus is diverted.

He withdraws his hand but stays an arm-length away; still aware of the reaction he got last time he gave her space. In this situation though, she has the rationality to stay where she is. Her curiosity rises at the fact that he seems to know something that she doesn't and it's doing wonders for blocking out the craving.

What the hell is going on?

He answers her with another question, reaching up to her cheek. Even as she throws him a warning look, he draws away with his fingers stained red and looks at the substance with interest. The brief touch shouldn't feel like such an imprint on her skin, shouldn't have her eyes following his motions so meticulously.

"What is it that my blood does for you?"

"You…" she catches herself there, refuses to admit this lapse in her control. She can't bring herself to let him see that she's not stable enough to handle herself, "I just need it."

"With no werewolf bite to cure, no threat of immanent death? Not good enough," he retorts, pushing her to confess, "Why, Caroline?"

She turns away from his scrutiny and is glad to see they are still alone out here. Apparently none of the other siblings witnessed the spectacle. It would have made this infinitely worse after the conversation they just had over breakfast.

She stares at her hands, the drying blood on her fingertips from where she hurt him. Here she thought the situation could not have gotten any worse today. She can only tell him the truth.

"I don't know."

Naturally, he doesn't believe her. Who else would know what reason there is behind this craving if not the one acting on it? She's not about to explain that she barely knows anything at the moment, least of all what's going on with her.

"Yes, you do."

He's infuriating her again with his way of assuming that he domineers her thoughts. He can't possibly have any idea what she thinks. Instead of snapping back at him though, she glowers at a statue on the other side of the courtyard.

If she says what he wants to hear out loud, she'll be admitting it to herself as well and he is the last person she wants to appear weak to, especially after this morning.

"I can't do this right now," she finally tells him and moves aside to head back in the direction of her room.

He doesn't let her off that easily, stepping into her path before she gets anywhere near the stairs. The glare she turns on him is practically an automatic reaction by now and he plays this game with her, moving in accordance when she tries to dodge him. There's no vamping away from him in the confinements of this building.

She's never been known for her patience and is barely a second away from shoving him out of the way when he catches her hand, holding it between his own before she can step back.

The blue of his eyes cuts into her, beseeching in their own way and his words are painfully honest, "This is not a punishment, love. I'm trying to help you."

It reminds her of the time alone in his mansion, pliers in her hand and searching for non-existent splinters in his shoulder. A time when Klaus asked for her friendship and she almost accepted, already knowing they were never going to be able to stay friends. A moment when he had her hands in his just like now and thanked her for her help even though she'd given him a brutally honest piece of mind.

" _How_? No, never mind, why should I even let you?" she says, pausing because there's no getting past him now, "There's always a catch when it comes to your help."

He frowns, clearly irked by the observation but decides not to comment on it. Justifying past actions would propel this situation in a direction that wouldn't help either of them at this point. Instead, he voices what she is afraid of and yet dying to hear.

"I've seen this before, what you're experiencing. A little differently but it seems to be the same problem."

Maybe it's the skin contact. Maybe it's her already frayed nerves but she snaps to attention anyway, looking at him warily.

It seems like he's changing tactics. Forcing her to open up didn't work so he's trying to catch her off guard by confronting her with the answer she probably doesn't want to know. Proving once again that he knows this side of her better than she does.

It's plain unfair; he has been living with his vampirism for much longer and has the obvious advantage.

"And what am I going through?" she asks, pulling her hand away to cross her arms in defiance.

"A fixation," he supplies and the way he says it makes it sound far less terrible than she expected. Probably the accent at work again since his expression is still serious enough to have her worrying. "A coping mechanism to distract yourself."

It sounds ridiculous for the fraction of a second and makes no sense at all. A fixation is something she associates with junkies, the kind of drug-users that used to lounge around in the parking lot of their high school back home. Maybe something like Klaus' obsession with creating more of his kind would also qualify.

But her? No way.

Then Elena flashes through her mind. She remembers her friend's humanity-free period that happened for a similar reason and her rocky return to emotions. The way she could only focus on a single thing in the days of recovery because Stefan had suggested clinging onto one emotion as means of control.

She was manic with the idea of killing Katherine, hell-bent on exacting revenge. She didn't even think of apologizing for the things she did to her friends before giving the vampire what she deserved. It had been Elena's way to channel the overwhelming emotions and it turned into a fixation that she had to act on.

So what if – she can barely process the thought despite how logical it suddenly appears – what if her way of anchoring herself is to channel the emotions into feeding from the most powerful creature she knows? Drawing on his power to handle her own turmoil?

It was the first thing she could focus on in the chaos of feelings, the thing that brought relief from the visions of her victims.

It only makes sense that someone like her, who loves control, would immediately look for the one thing that could provide it. Caroline feels her collected expression waver and she presses a hand over her bloodstained lips, as though that would make the proof disappear. There may just be panic rising inside her and she tries to breathe deeply to keep it at bay.

This can't be happening. Seriously, the whole mess just managed to get worse than it already was. Not only her list of kills and the Originals to handle but as it turns out; she is currently a blood-junkie addicted to the Original hybrid.

How the hell is she supposed to get out of this disaster? Sure, Elena managed to come around but she only truly got rid of her craving by exacting revenge on the Doppelganger.

What can she do? Hoping it will just pass seems foolish after experiencing her friend's struggle with it. Leaving New Orleans might make this entire thing much worse; it could drive her crazy with the need to drink from him and have her lashing out again.

Or it might have the opposite effect if she puts enough distance between them. Here's to hoping, even if she has no idea how this whole thing works.

She manages to focus back on Klaus who is still waiting, watching her intently. They both know she just realized that he's right. She lets her fingers drop away from her mouth, tries to formulate a response that won't betray how freaked out she is. Her hand tightens around her other arm, physically trying to hold it together.

"Assuming you are right about whatever that is – how do I get rid of this?"

He shakes his head and that has her spirits sinking just a fraction. "Until you tell me why you need it, I can't find a solution."

The irony is flooding back. Here they are, not quite the same as in the woods ages ago but he's asking for her honesty again. Only this time, there really isn't much of a choice for her. What would she do otherwise? Call the Salvatores in the hope that they know how to figure out this kind of issue?

She can't just tell Stefan about being obsessed with Klaus' blood and ask him for advice, doesn't even want to think of the awkward explanations involved, especially after what happened between them recently.

There's no other option but to trust the hybrid on this.

"I've been having hallucinations," she grits out, looking past him, "The people I killed and … my mom. They're all here when I don't focus on shutting them out. Your blood makes them go away. So I can't stop thinking about it."

There, it's out on the table and it must sound just as strange to him as it does to her. Saying it out loud makes it reality and Caroline isn't happy about it. The hybrid, on the other hand, looks intrigued.

"For how long?"

"Since you made me turn it back on," she shrugs, trying to downplay it.

It's the first few hours after flipping the switch back; maybe it's normal to be a little psychotic during this time. Only because Elena and Stefan reacted differently to regaining their humanity doesn't mean she's the one that's out of the ordinary.

He's quiet, removing his gaze from her as he considers it. The longer the silence stretches, the more agitated she becomes at his lack of an answer and reverts back to self-consciousness.

She notices that she managed to smear his blood across the neckline of the dress. If Rebekah were around, she'd snap her neck for ruining it. Her face is probably equally covered. Trust her to think of these things when there are much bigger issues to worry about.

She almost starts as he places his hand on her shoulder; thumb barely brushing along her collarbone. He's looking at her with that intensity she needs to get used to again because it's doing something to her that definitely has nothing to do with the cravings.

"I'm going to speak with Freya," the hybrid decides, "This seems to be a case for the witches."

"You're not just going to compel me again to solve the problem?" she retorts.

She knows she's just being spiteful now in light of him offering help but old habits are hard to brush off. He has already compelled her once and since she's staying here, he could easily do it all over. It would probably put his siblings at rest as well, knowing he's got her under mind control.

"I suspect it wouldn't improve this," he is serious and she wonders if what she's hearing is worry in his words, "And you should know that I won't compel you without your consent."

She's not quite ready to believe that after the earlier episode. Even if she was not entirely herself at that point, she doubts he would hesitate to do it again if the situation arose and she started slaughtering people that play important roles in his plans. She raises her eyebrows at his assurance.

"Right. Even if I attack you again."

That's got his lips tilting upwards. "I'm quite capable of handling a young vampire, love. I don't need compulsion for that."

She's about to give him a snappy answer when she sees Elijah step out on the other side of the yard, walking towards them. His appearance makes her aware of what she looks like right now and the conclusions the older Original will inevitably draw from it – that she's more trouble than she's worth. She clears her throat; eyes darting over Klaus' shoulder and letting him know they've got company.

"I should go clean up."

He seems to share her thought because when she brushes past this time, he moves out of her way and lets her be. She flashes straight to her room, thankfully running into no one that could ask the wrong questions on the way. Once inside, she leans against the closed door and listens to her heart returning to its resting pace.

God, what just happened down there?

She takes her time washing the evidence off her face but since her things are still stored somewhere by the family's minions, she's stuck with the dress for the time being. She really wasn't careful about feeding, must have looked like a starved animal drinking from him.

She's still amazed that he's taking it so lightly, since any time she fed from him before was by his own volition and always from the wrist. Just now, she could have torn a hole through his neck and she half-expected a deadly bite in retaliation.

She also needs to stop thinking about the what-ifs.

Tossing the washcloth aside, she looks at her reflection sternly. She's Caroline Forbes; she can get through this just like she managed to deal with all the other stuff back in Mystic Falls.

She just needs to survive the next handful of days and it'll be fine. She will find the strength to head back home, stand at her mother's grave and accept that she handled things very badly.

She only hopes that the witch sister can find a solution to this, despite her obvious dislike. Maybe she can be motivated by the idea that it'll mean that she gets out of here as soon as her head is back in the right place.

The buzzing of her phone pulls her from the inner thought track and as she takes it out to look at the screen, she is startled. Bonnie hasn't contacted her in the time she's been off on her escapade. The guilt is instantly back, for so many things – not appreciating her return from the hell of the prison world, not being there for her, simply not caring.

She hopes nothing terrible has happened. Well, outside her other best friend apparently falling into a coma but with all the things they've dealt with in the past years, Elena's state is something they can figure out together. They always do.

She settles against the balcony door and hesitates for an extended number of rings before finding the nerve to take the call.

"Caroline?" Bonnie sounds tired, like she hasn't slept properly in a while. She's instantly concerned about the witch. Things must be worse in Mystic Falls than she thought.

"Hey. Yeah, I'm here. I'm so glad you're calling," she replies, finding her throat strangely tight at the sound of the voice on the other end, "Are you okay?"

"You sound … more normal than last time. Are _you_ okay?" Bonnie poses the question back at her and Caroline bites her lip as she remembers how awful she was to her friend in the days after the funeral.

God, she even asked Stefan if they were going to kill her, without a second thought. Of course wondering about her wellbeing would seem absurd if she was still emotionless.

"Yeah, I…um, I'm back. It's a long story and a bit of a mess," she tries to find the right words to explain it, wanting to say so many things at once, "Who am I kidding, it's all a huge mess."

She trips over her explanations and doesn't know where to start but once she begins to apologize, it simply floods out of her. She explains everything, finds herself growing teary-eyed, gets angry at herself and goes off on a tangent, apologizes over and over for Stefan, Matt, Tyler, all those people at Whitmore. Tells her at least three times that she's sorry for how harsh she was, how she would never ever want to see them get hurt because of her.

She has no idea how long she's been rambling when she comes up for air and wipes a hand over her eyes. She can't remember consecutively crying this much since first grade. So much for finding some composure. For good measure, she adds that she'll definitely make up for everything when she comes home, starting with ice cream cake.

Her friend remains quiet throughout the rant, simply listening to the tirade of apologies. She was always the better listener of the two of them. Finally, there's a sigh on the other end of the line but the witch sounds genuinely relieved. That barrier of initial hesitance between them seems to drop away.

"Good … that's good. I'm glad you're you again. Really, Care. These last two weeks – a lot of things happened while you've been gone. I'm just sorry I couldn't do more to help find you and bring you back here. Stefan wanted me to do a locator spell but with everything that's been going on after Kai's spell…"

She's instantly on alert at her friend's answer. She knows that kind of foreboding statement, the one that's code for ' _the world has gone crazy and there's been at least one death'_. She's almost hesitant to ask details when that will surely add to her own baggage at the minute.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you when you're back. You wouldn't believe half of it anyway. Look, you figure out what you need to figure out until you can come home. We're just happy you're doing okay. I mean, you could have been anywhere, getting in all kinds of trouble. You could have been … I mean, all of us were worried. Especially Stefan."

"I can imagine," she murmurs, fresh guilt rising at the thought and she tries to focus on her friend instead of her growing list of people-to-make-amends-to, "What about you? How are you?"

"Okay, I guess. It just never stops being supernaturally insane here and I'm back to being the witch that everyone thinks can magically solve all problems. Like I know any better. I'm pretty sure I'm going to fail a bunch of classes because there's no time to catch up everything I missed sitting around in 1994. Just when I thought going to college would be easier. I think I need a vacation after this term."

She manages a laugh at that because it couldn't be more true. All of them deserve a break and she going to make it her mission to treat everyone she hurt to something extremely nice when she gets back. Their lives are so far removed from normal that a holiday sounds perfect. Only that she won't go around eating people in every city they visit.

"We could always fly to the Bahamas?" she suggests and her friend chuckles into the phone, clearly glad to be speaking about less gloomy prospects.

"I'd love that," Bonnie agrees.

She didn't realize how much she misses her friend's support; despite how much they also bicker. Bonnie somehow knows how to make a problem feel less awful. When her friend speaks up again, she realizes that there are some things she hasn't mentioned yet, "So do I even want to know where you are right now?"

"Nowhere special, there's no beaches here, not even a pool. I'm coming back as soon as I can. I just need to get my head straight first. I'm not the best person to be around right now. But you can tell Stefan that I'm fine and … it'll be okay."

"Of course, I'll let him know."

She worries her bottom lip, looking out into the sunshine as another thought worms its way into her head. "Bonnie … does he hate me?"

A brief silence on the other end, then her friend's voice comes back and it's gentle with understanding. "Care, if he hated you, he wouldn't be so hell-bent on looking for you. He even had your car tracked down and I think he followed a bunch of leads but couldn't find anything else. He'll just be glad you're you again."

"Thanks for saying that," she has to smile into the phone, touched, "I miss you."

"And I miss you. The dorm is way too empty without you and Elena. They threatened to get me new roommates so you need to get yourself back over here."

She leans her head against the window at the mention of their comatose best friend. It's a subject they haven't breached yet and she knows it'll be another tough experience to go back and see her friend, knowing she won't wake up unless they find a way to unlink them. She's got a feeling Bonnie doesn't want to talk about it any more than she does right now.

"I actually took a gap semester," she confesses, "It seemed like a great decision when I was leaving and I think I want to move into my mom's house for a while, sort some things out. I didn't get around to much after the funeral."

Bonnie understands, as always and Caroline catches herself thinking that she doesn't deserve such good friends that simply accept all she's done as a result of her grief. She's beyond glad to have them and pushes the melancholy thought away before she can get sentimental again.

Noting that she hasn't asked about the most obvious thing yet, she changes the topic, "So, uh, why did you call?"

She can practically hear her friend shrugging on the other end.

"I don't know. I thought maybe I'd get luckier than Stefan trying to talk to you. He tried to push through and that didn't really get a reaction so I thought it might be different when I call. I guess you could say I had a feeling."

Once more, she's reminded why she's so fond of this girl after everything they've been through. Friends to the end, as cliché as that might sound. She doubts that Bonnie could have gotten her back if she'd still been free of humanity but she doesn't voice it. She'll never know who would have managed to rouse an emotional reaction from her.

They do manage to steer onto subjects that have nothing to do with the chaos in both of their lives or the tragedies they experienced in the last weeks. Things like Whitmore gossip and that TV series they both wanted to start on.

Bonnie only briefly mentions the wedding of Jo and Alaric when she asks about it but swears to tell her everything on her return. She gathers that it was a disaster without her running it and doesn't pry further.

Although the witch also inquires about where she's been during her emotionless road trip, Caroline decides to leave out the majority of events and only describes the different cities with all the vigour she can muster. Excluding her current location.

She also avoids mentioning Klaus and doesn't even know why. She knows her friend would be the last person to judge her for it at this point but she just can't bring herself to say it.

When they finally make it to goodbyes because Bonnie has to go, she already feels immensely lighter. Sure, life is going on without her in Mystic Falls but at least she knows there's always someone to come back to, no matter how bad things are. It's comforting to hear that nobody has given up on her as a lost cause.

The resounding click as they hang up hovers in the silence and she stays there for a while, looking out at the Quarter and wishing she could make these past two weeks disappear.

Eventually, she lies down on the bed, toying with her phone and realizes they just spent two hours catching up. Excluding all the subjects that they didn't dare to breach yet. She wonders if Klaus has made any progress on the fixation problem by now but isn't quite ready to look for him.

Who knows, wandering around might be seen as hunting down the baby and she doesn't need to face the siblings and their suspicions right now.

Her fingers find a loose thread, white-blue, sticking out from the covers and she wraps it around her pinkie, over and over again. Small motions to focus on while Bonnie's words replay through her head. She closes her eyes for a minute and her mom comes back to mind, the days she spent in a hospital bed with Caroline beside her, holding her hand.

She opens them quickly, paying as much attention to reality as she can. Even so, she knows she should face those thoughts and let herself feel everything attached to them. She's still scared that she'll have the urge to seek out Klaus the moment she feels overwhelmed.

It's early afternoon by now and there's no sign of life outside her door, the entire place seems to be silent. The hybrid probably has other things to deal with that she doesn't want to know about. Maybe there are still tensions about the death of Camille, the aftermath of the funeral that she caused.

She still has to wrap her head around how different his life is away from Mystic Falls. She tends to forget that he is an Original family member, father of a baby and running a city. She shouldn't expect him to have an answer for her so soon. Young vampires with a problematic fixation are surely not on top of the to-do list.

Out of sheer inability to do anything else, she researches the condition on her phone and only comes up with Wikipedia, biological processes and dictionary definitions. None of which really give her an answer on how to get rid of it.

Between 'an obsessive preoccupation' and 'a strong attachment to a person or thing, manifested in an immature or pathological way', it just confirms that she's in way too deep.

The only way she can think of is working on what caused it in the first place: the emotional baggage she's been ignoring since this morning. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. This may be a great idea or end badly enough that she'll regret it but she can't sit here twiddling thumbs and doing nothing.

Looking up at the ceiling, she forces herself to go through her journey day by day, recall every interaction she had, every person she met and used as a blood source.

At some point she notices that her cheeks are wet again, eyes spilling over as the guilt takes hold, especially at the thought of the teenage wolf that was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Much too young to die. The tracks slowly fade though; the longer she lets the experiences pass through her mind.

She tries her best to picture each one in her head and apologize for taking their life. When that doesn't help and makes her feel more ridiculous by the minute for mentally talking to ghosts, she fishes out a pen from her bag and manages to find some crumpled sticky notes at the bottom.

Thank god she's always prepared, one can never have enough pens for stabbing people or commemorating victims.

The ballpoint hovers over the creased paper for a long time before she finds the words to say sorry. People that are mostly strangers. She doesn't even know most names. Still, she writes each one a letter on the small squares, even Keira's flatmate whose death she is partly responsible for.

The shadows are growing longer in her room when she arranges them on the bedside table. Colourful notes to the dead who can't hear her read them.

She thinks she knows why the Salavatores drink so much. It numbs it all down to a point where it doesn't matter so much. She really wants a glass of whisky. All the weight Bonnie managed to take from her earlier is back, making her feel leaden inside despite having expelled it all onto paper. It's not better than before but more present again.

When she raises her head, there's the blonde bartender sitting in the armchair beside the balcony. She doesn't say anything and Caroline doesn't make a move to address her either but stares as the bloody torso, the deep cut in her chest.

She did that. It makes her angry to see the human there, angry because she just spilled out her regrets and apologies on paper and still, the shadow remains, punishing her with her gaze.

"Damn it! Get out of my head," she cries, flinging a pillow at the vision and turning away. She wants to be done feeling like this, "What else am supposed to do?"

Of course, the hallucination doesn't answer. Only the sensation stays, of accusing eyes glued to her like daggers in the back. Wherever she looks, there's Camille O'Connell, watching her with a condemning expression until Caroline can't think of anything else but burying her face into the pillow and screaming her frustration into the covers.

There's the familiar pricking of fangs in her mouth and she fists her hands into the sheets, refusing to find Klaus and demand relief. She needs to find a better solution, fast.


	9. Is it evil to take what one wants?

**9\. Is it evil to take what one wants?**

She's managed to break the stupid armchair and tear all the pillows to shreds by the time he comes, stepping into the room and causing a flurry of feathers. Her eyes instantly fall on him and she doesn't bother masking their blood-red colour and the dark veins rising underneath.

He only needs to sweep his gaze over the chaos to understand what is happening and wordlessly extends his wrist. Caroline holds onto the headboard tighter and shakes her head, knuckles whitening.

Raised eyebrows as he approaches the bed. „Come on now, love. You need it."

"No," she presses out, denying what is so obviously true, "I'm doing this my way."

He saves himself the reply, standing beside the mattress and catching sight of her carefully laid out notes. He doesn't need to read them to understand what they are for.

There's a twitch to his lips, like he wants to smile but can't quite bring himself to and she wonders if he's ever done this for his victims. Bothering with apologies doesn't seem like his thing. Plus, there's probably no keeping track of how many he's killed anymore.

The dipping sun that streams in from the window outlines him and she can see the pulse under the skin, thrumming steadily. She can't tear her eyes from it, no matter how much she wants to keep away. There has to be an alternative.

She won't ask for it despite how evident her need is, wants to control herself so badly. He watches her struggle a couple of moments longer before lifting his arm to his mouth and sinking teeth into the wrist himself.

The scent hits her hard although she can't see the rivulet of blood running down his hand. She's off the bed before she can think of holding back, pressing the wound to her lips and drinking deep. Already cursing herself for being so susceptible.

He lets her have it again, a hand coming up to cradle her head but she barely notices the touch. Everything she's been fighting with for the past hour drops away when the taste engulfs her, the dead gazes on her finally fading into the background.

As her senses slowly return to her, the shame builds as well. Even as she feeds, she's angry with herself for not being able to resist the urge. She should be stronger than that and able to face her demons on her own terms. At least she manages to stop before going crazy on him again, jerking back from the wrist as soon as she has enough control over her limbs.

Throwing a look around the room, she notices that it's finally empty again, save for them both. Her mind clears with every passing second and she takes in the mess she's created in her attempts to channel the anger into other things.

Her exhale of relief changes into a sharp intake though, when she realizes that she's moved far too close in the rush of bloodlust. Klaus is only a hair's breath away and his eyes trail over her stained lips, lingering.

She knows she should turn away. Swallowing, she realizes it's the third time she has fed from him today. Maybe that's what she's feeling right now, that pull towards him based entirely on the hunger. Wouldn't that be a convenient truth?

"Thanks," she murmurs. She feels the need to say it even though she wanted to refuse him. The tranquillity settling inside her only makes her glad that he offered it.

"You're welcome," he tells her as though the earlier episode in the courtyard never happened, finally moving his eyes up to hers. She figures he's trying to make up for putting her into this position in the first place. After all, she's pointed out more than enough times that he's at fault for this.

There's a moment of quiet again and she feels his hand slipping from her hair, gliding down a loose strand like a lingering thought until the contact is broken. She focuses on breathing, trying to make sense of the feeling in the pit of her stomach. Ruling them out as butterflies of any sort and no, it's most certainly not a sensation of loss when his touch disappears.

"Any news?" she asks instead to break the tension hanging between them.

It's been over half a day, she doubts he'd drop by without anything significant to tell her. He hasn't commented on her trashing the furniture yet so she suspects he has more important things to talk about.

"I thought we might discuss it over dinner," he suggests, stepping away from her to retrieve the bags just outside the room.

It's all there, her suitcase and duffel bag that she packed the night before. Strange, she didn't even hear anyone placing them there earlier. It must have happened while she was busy inside her own head, letting the bed feel her rage.

She nods at his offer, already feeling much more like herself again and welcoming a distraction right about now. Based on the breakfast that already seems like ages ago, she bets dinner will be just as exquisite.

"Will your siblings be there?" Caroline asks just to be able to prepare herself for the atmosphere of their misgivings. When he shakes his head, she's a little surprised but finds herself more at ease.

Not that being alone with him is ever a smart idea either but it's better than dealing with the whole family.

"Okay. Give me five minutes," she agrees because it's free delicious food, in any case.

Gentleman that he is when it suits him, he simply dips his head in response and moves outside to give her space. Those old-school manners are something she can appreciate when her emotions are still all over the place.

She doesn't think she can handle too much proximity on this high from feeding. There's something special to his blood and she wonders if it has any side effects when she consumes it so much. She hopes not.

It's good to change into clothes that are not borrowed, something that she feels herself in. She slips into jeans and a lacy blue top, quickly splashes some water on her face and puts on basic make-up.

No need to look like she spent the better part of her time crying, shouting into pillows and abusing the room. The flawless human visage is what she's good at and in no time, she looks somewhat presentable.

Having something to walk in is also fantastic, she notes while slipping into her favourite ankle boots. Barefoot is definitely not her thing outside of a beach. A last look at the destruction in the room and she sweeps feathers out of the way with her toe as she leaves.

He leads the way but instead of heading down through the courtyard as she expected, he takes a turn and walks around the upper floor. She's curious, following without question until he holds a door open for her and she finds herself in what she easily identifies as his room.

It's covered in paintings, a massive space with a parlour of sorts leading into an open bedroom. All of which could pass as an art studio.

She's barely started examining everything when he moves past her onto the adjoining balcony facing the outside of the compound, the French Quarter spreading out below them. There's a small table there as well, already heaped with dishes.

She has to quench a smirk at the sight because he really is prepared. She wonders what he would have done with all that if she'd refused his proposal to eat together.

Caroline pauses in front of a larger painting, a landscape of what she assumes to be one of the city's landmarks. In general, the room is full of work that has something wild and sad about it, undoubtedly all done by him.

It seems the canvases she saw hanging in his Mystic Falls mansion were painted during a very different period of his life because all of this follows another style entirely.

"Jackson Square," he says, close behind and she recalls the building she saw in the city, the one he's painted all in greys and reds on the canvas. Very different from the real thing. "Have you been yet?"

"Not for long. I wasn't really into sightseeing."

"True appreciation for culture is quite a human trait," he acknowledges, "Another reason why it's a far more mundane existence to live without emotions."

"And here I was thinking you hated anything that reminds you of what humanity is like," she retorts, moving to take a seat outside and raising her chin towards him, "And just for your information, I had a great time."

"I don't doubt it," he settles on the seat opposite her, "There are enough basic pleasures to engage in that keep it interesting."

She just rolls her eyes and helps herself to sautéed green beans. Trying to keep occupied before she starts to interpret the double meaning behind his words. She wonders absently if Elijah let anything slip about her nightly adventure with other guys.

To her delight, there is just about everything she's started to love about the culinary variety of New Orleans. There's shrimp, steamed vegetables, a platter of crawfish with rice and a steaming pot of gumbo.

She's surprised to find herself glad that she fed from him because it fulfilled the problematic craving and freed her up to enjoy this. It shouldn't be so easy to get used to the arrangement they're falling into – him offering, her taking.

Two weeks ago, this is the last place she would have imagined herself and sharing a meal with a former enemy at that. Now, she watches him as he spears carrots onto his fork and can only see the person offering her safety and support. So far without a list of demands attached.

Despite her lingering suspicions, she's becoming more comfortable with him. It's letting memories of their time together return that she doesn't need on her mind right now.

She doesn't decline his offer of wine and almost drains the first glass in one go, glad for the alcohol. Although it's not exactly the numbing effect she fantasized about earlier, it comes much closer than water. Klaus simply smirks, letting her refill as she pleases.

After devouring her first helping and getting lost in the flavours, she glances at him again. Instead of doing the polite thing and complimenting the cooking, she voices what's been burning on her tongue the entire time.

"So what did your sister say? Is this going to be something … permanent?"

"Not exactly," he looks aside, at the dusk hovering on the horizon along the city skyline, "It seems to be a purely psychological condition, dependant on your state of mind. As long as the emotional instability remains, so does the need to cope through other means."

It makes sense but she's not sure if it relieves or worries her to hear it. At least she can be sure that it's not a magically induced thing she's incapable of removing. But knowing it's all up to her willpower doesn't help either.

How is she supposed to get rid of an instability that is tied to her recent rampage? She can't get away from her experiences and it hasn't helped to write all the guilt down on paper.

She shakes her head. "That can't just be it. If I could control this, I wouldn't be feeling this way! I've been telling myself that I don't need any blood to deal with it and it's not working. I've tried facing everything today and it just made me…"

"Destructive?" he supplies and it's her turn to glance away, taking another sip of wine instead. The tattered room already speaks for itself.

"There's no witchy trick to work around it then?" she knows her question is just a tad too hopeful but it's worth a try.

Maybe Freya happened to have a more effective way in her arsenal of incantations and potions. She can't dislike her enough to flat out refuse information about possible cures.

"She recommended herbal remedies to soothe the mind," Klaus starts but upon seeing her doubtful expression, veers away from the suggestion to tell her what she's really asking, "No particular spell to alleviate the craving, I'm afraid."

Her appetite wanes at the news and she puts her cutlery back onto the plate. So there's no shortcut out of this, like she'd hoped. It disappoints her because seriously, Bonnie always seems to have a spell for practically everything so how does this Original witch fail to come up with something helpful?

Although, to be fair, her friend never managed to magically influence Elena in her post-emotionless days either. Everything might have turned out differently otherwise.

"I can't stay like this," she states the obvious and catches his gaze over the table, "I don't understand _why_ I can't make it go away. I thought knowing what is wrong with me would make it easier to handle."

"Patience, love. I'm sure it will improve within the week as you recover. These things take more time for us immortals."

God, sometimes she hates his confidence in what he says, this all-knowing way of stating things like they're fact. It doesn't calm her nerves in the slightest. She flips her hair back over her shoulders, leans her chin on her hand and narrows her eyes at him in question.

"You really believe that? Or do you want to make me stop worrying that I'll be a blood junkie for the rest of my days?"

He smiles at her phrasing but pushes the food aside to grant her his full attention. "Those things are not exclusive."

"And what if you're wrong?" she challenges because it's a plausible option that they're all so far off from the real answer – that this is something that can't be healed.

At the minute, she's not sure it's going to disappear anytime soon because she can feel it, hovering on the fringes of her consciousness and waiting for another relapse. She might be stuck with it just like Stefan with his ripper side.

He barely has to take a beat to consider the query and when he answers, it's more blatant than she would have liked.

"Then there's still the possibility of attempting compulsion and simply tricking the mind," he offers and she shakes her head immediately, refusing to go back down that path again, "Or I suppose you'll just have to stay here until the issue is resolved."

Although it's the obvious answer, she's irritated that he suggests it like it's so simple for her. "You know that's a terrible idea."

"Is it? How else would you satisfy the cravings when they overwhelm you?" he shoots back over the rim of his glass and for a moment she's at a loss of what to retort, giving him time to down the contents and pour them both the rest of the bottle.

"Your brother and sister wouldn't be happy about it," she argues, "And I'm not going to hang around for your enemies to find out about me. I've heard all kinds of things in the last couple of days and all of them revolved around you being on everyone's hit list. I bet that includes any friends of yours."

"Then I suppose you can empathise, having plotted to kill me so often," is his bemused remark. Then, he leans forward to fix her with a look that's got her thinking he knows her too well to accept that excuse, "But none of that is what you're actually afraid of."

She furrows her brow in confusion until it dawns on her what he means. Maybe because his words are so eerily similar to the ones Silas posed in their encounter outside the Salvatore house. An illusion that left her reeling for days because of how much truth there was to it.

She admitted what she was scared of but everything has changed since then. She would be an idiot not to fear Klaus on some level but this, now, is something different.

She scoffs. "What – you think I'm scared of you? Why would I agree to stay in the first place if I was afraid you'd kill me in my sleep or something?"

"No. It's losing control here that you fear. You're still afraid of yourself around me," he reveals and she can't decide if she's more incredulous or embarrassed that he calls her out on it, "And the circumstances make you worry that you might have to face that."

She's speechless for a whole three seconds before bursting out loud.

First the humanity switch, then the blood cravings and now he wants to talk about her feelings for him? After more than a year and everything that's happened in the last 24 hours? She is seriously not in the mood for these games right now and she's got no qualms about letting him know that it's the last thing she wants to discuss.

"So is that what this is all about? Me admitting to what _you_ think I'm feeling? Seriously?! I gave you my confession a year ago and you promised to be satisfied with that. Now I ended up here because you just couldn't mind your own business, as usual, and you want me to say it all again? Is that why you're helping me? Because I can do this on my own just fine, I'll find another way, I don't need to stick around and play this game all over again."

She's a heartbeat away from getting up and marching right out of here. She can't believe that he really just continues to presume to know everything about her, everything she's going through when it comes to him. It doesn't even matter that there might be an ounce of truth in the observation.

She may also be bluffing just a little when it comes to handling this by herself since she's been failing miserably so far but that's beside the point. It's the principle. She can see that he's making the exact kind of assumptions about her that she made about him during his time in Mystic Falls. If her anger about it makes her hypocrite, she doesn't care.

He seems genuinely taken off guard by her brusque reaction but his gaze still doesn't waver. Out of everything she's thrown at him, he only seems to pick up a single thought.

"So your feelings are different now?"

She gulps down the rest of her wine because it would be shame to leave it, before standing up from the table.

Her tongue is as sharp as her eyes, narrowed at him. "Even if they are, it doesn't matter. If you're only letting me stay because…"

"I'm helping you because mine haven't changed, Caroline," he cuts in firmly, with enough sincerity to have her pausing in her motions, "But I'll keep my promise for as long as you ask me to. If you want to leave, I won't stop you."

She stays frozen in front of her chair, still bracing herself against the table. She didn't expect him to say it so openly. She's battling with herself about whether or not to indulge him in this conversation.

She never came here to speak about her feelings or to acknowledge them at all. That's in the past and she's tried to move on since his departure. No contact, no regrets, shredded drawings and it's worked out so far.

Of course it hasn't made the attraction go away and sure, she's not going to deny fantasizing about that afternoon often enough. But it's been a year and everything has changed in their lives.

Seriously, he has an infant to take care of and now that there is something going on with her and Stefan … well, there was. She's not so sure now, doesn't even know if she can face him anytime soon.

For just a moment, she lets herself entertain the thought of how it would have been if Klaus had remained. If he had been there for her during her mother's illness. If she would have accepted the feelings for what they were becoming and not cared about what her friends thought.

What-ifs that don't help at all because they are not the present.

She came here without humanity to teach him a lesson, turning his own methods against him and causing chaos in his new world. Still, he has let her stay and is willing to guide her through the aftermath. He seems to be prepared to have her be part of this life, even if she isn't.

The comprehension has warmth spreading through her again. The knowledge that she is being put above everything else despite the complications that it creates. How does he do that to her insides without even trying? Why?

Maybe it's the plain fact that he cares without her giving him reason to. She's said once before that she knew he was in love with her and he didn't deny it. He's played with open cards all this time while she's dodged him at every opportunity.

This is not why she came here but it might just be what she'll stay for if she lets him affect her this way.

She straightens, fingers slipping off the tablecloth. She feels like she just ran a marathon for all the exhaustion spreading through her body when the only thing weighing it down is realization.

This morning she thought she hated him and somehow, in the span of a day, she's come full circle to this messed up affection. Denial has brought her to this moment, standing on his balcony with dusk colouring them.

She's taking a leap of faith by telling him the truth, her words close to a whisper.

"They haven't changed."

Something shifts in the hybrid's body language then, like an inner tension releasing. Noiselessly, he rises from his chair as well and rounds the table to stand in front of her again, too close to still call this friendship.

His blood is calling to her with the proximity but this time, she finds the strength to keep her attention on his face, sinking into the blue abyss that promises her she's not making a mistake.

"Then stay," he says and it's nothing more or less than an offer. One that she once extended to Matt, to Tyler, to Stefan and they refused her.

Caroline doesn't know if he's talking about now, when she threatened to leave, or the forever he promised an age ago. She just nods and has no idea of the magnitude behind it.

She lets him slide his hand along her neck, thumb brushing against the cheek that was coated with his blood earlier. She forgets how to breathe at all, immobile under the skin contact that has her wondering why she ever wanted him out of her life.

After what seems like an eternity of silent exchange, she's the one that takes action. She grips him by the arm and pulls him past their dinner-for-two, inside the cover of his darkening room and away from the sounds of the street life.

She's not one to forget that enemies can have spying eyes everywhere, especially after everything the warlock suggested two nights ago.

Klaus seems to understand her motives and doesn't resist until there's a wall between them and the outside world. His hands find her hips, holding her close enough to control her motions. They're familiar movements, no matter how far back their last encounter was.

She can never forget the possessiveness with which he pressed her against that tree, the ground, his body. In the way he's looking at her in the dim light, she can't remember why she tried to forget at all. Her self-made rules went out the door the moment she flipped the switch a fortnight ago.

Then there's brick pushing against her spine again, she closes her eyes and finds that the shadowy figures in her mind are staying away. Her fingers brush over the stubble on his cheeks, guiding him closer even though he doesn't need an invitation.

When their lips meet it's almost languid. A more tender exploration than their first time. He's got his thumbs tracing circles against the flesh of her hips and she runs a hand through his hair to the back of his neck, pulling him in.

They're a match bred from manipulation and dangerous flirtation and it shouldn't work this well. She shouldn't let him press her into the wall and pull at her bottom lip and her responding so willingly by letting him in.

For a second it's almost like having no humanity, this liberating feeling of not caring about consequences. Then he breaks away and she meets the intensity of his gaze.

"What?" she murmurs, not quite able to let her hands drop away, a finger toying with his necklaces. She doesn't quite know how she got from yelling at him to this so quickly. Another outlet for her feelings today that doesn't make much sense.

He smiles, trademark dimples appearing. "You never did _tell_ me what you want."

She can only roll her eyes. This is exactly what she was arguing about less than five minutes ago and he just can't let it go. It almost makes her angry again, if not for the way he's still touching her, fingers running over the edge of her jeans just lightly.

Seriously, they're kissing and he thinks of the fact that she never actually confessed out loud what she desired back then? As though her body didn't communicate it effectively enough in the midst of leaves and sunshine. Of course he knows.

"I thought I was pretty obvious," she says, leaning back to rest her head against the brick.

He's not giving up so easily, a coy expression tugging on his mouth. "Humour me, love."

"Klaus," she warns him but is only rewarded with a raised brow, an expectant look. Finally, she sighs, caving in because he's obviously not going to move an inch until she says it. "Fine. Back then; I wanted you because … I had to know if it was only a random attraction that was making me feel something for you. Wanting what I shouldn't. And then you cornered me and I figured, why not get it out of my system?"

His lips close to her ear, thinking aloud, "And what did you find?"

"That it wasn't enough," she admits.

He's about to say something in return but she pushes her lips back against his before he can ask more questions, holding onto the front of his shirt to keep him close. He doesn't resist her, hands coming up to frame her face as she does the exploring.

He meets her in every touch, deviating after a while to kiss along her neck until she can't decide what is making her more restless, his fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt or the soft pressure of his mouth against her jaw line.

Still, he doesn't undress her and she respects him going slow, despite how much she suddenly wants to feel skin on skin. After everything that happened in the last two days, it's unbelievable how much lust flares up at the thought.

Ten points for emotional instability making her want things her rationality would immediately dismiss based on what she knows. About him, his past, his flaws. But his lips find hers again and she doesn't resist sighing at the contact, sinking into the embrace.

He's everything she remembers; a warm, solid body leaning against her, an animal's desire claiming her, a gentleness that tells her it's more than an afternoon in the woods. Most of all his hands, hands that held hers in a dance and that gripped her too tightly in his rage. They wrapped around her throat before and still; they're also those of a lover.

She doesn't think she can leave anytime soon at this rate.

Apparently the minutes pass them by faster than she thought possible. When they pull apart and catch their breath, she opens her eyes to find darkness has already settled over the city. The glow of neon lights outside dances across his face as they look at another.

"And what do you want?" she asks, once she's found her voice again.

"Many things," the hybrid's hands don't stray from her, fingers following the line of her collarbone to her shoulder, drifting down her bare arm, "With one more addition to the list."

She has to smile at the implication behind the words. As though he didn't already have her on that mental list back in Mystic Falls. He's good at nonchalance but she knows he's probably wanted her far longer than she has been drawn to him. She's just not denying it to herself anymore.

Her eyes shift away from him and catch a glimpse of the sketches on his desk. The ones on top are in colour, large, blue eyes and small hands on paper. She looks at the portraits of the baby and knows reality is going to have its way of disrupting whatever she wants, as always.

The drawings bring a question to mind she's asked herself a couple of times since hearing about the child. The one that'll make her sound like she's back to being a petty high school girl. Screw it, a tiny part of her still is. It'll ruin this moment but once it's in her thoughts, she can't shake it off.

"Why Hayley?"

He stops his motions, looks at her quizzically before his gaze follows her line of sight and he understands. He turns her face back to him, making sure she's fully aware of the meaning of his explanation.

"She was a distraction that presented itself. Nothing more. It was never meant to result in a child. Nobody even knew it was possible until the witches revealed the truth."

"But the baby is hers too," she remarks and it's not an accusation but a fact, "She's part of your life now."

"Is that jealousy I hear, love?" Klaus looks almost bemused and she's tempted to smack him in the chest for the suggestion. "There were more than a few ups and downs during the pregnancy but of course, by extension Hayley is a member of my family now. Although my interest in her is of a different nature - my brother has the romance covered. Unlucky in love as always."

Now that's news she didn't see coming. Once she realizes that she is actually irrationally glad to hear that the backstabbing she-wolf isn't involved with the hybrid after all, there's surprise that the other Original has managed to fall for her.

"Elijah? Really?"

His tone is far from suggesting it's a joke. "He's still too selfless for his own sake. He chose to put the common good before his feelings as only he can. He doesn't always agree that if there's something you want, you should simply take it."

He shouldn't be looking at her in that way while he says it, especially not when they just discussed his connection to the mother of his baby. She swallows, fidgeting in her position against the wall.

"So where is she now?"

"No need to concern yourself with that. She won't be here while you are recovering."

His pleasant expression doesn't change but his voice tells her he wants to close the subject. Apparently this is what he and Elijah were arguing over in the morning and mildly curious as she is, she's not anxious enough to see the werewolf to disagree.

Speaking of the devil – in their brief pause she can hear the sound of footsteps from outside the room and a moment later, one of the subjects of their conversation walks in. Apparently no vampire here is prone to knocking to announce their presence.

She somewhat expects Klaus to step away from her and grant his brother attention but he stays right where he is as though lost in thought, hands resting on her waist.

It's Elijah that clears his throat, meeting her eye over the hybrid's shoulder. Mercilessly, he flicks on the light switch that has them both blinking against the sudden glare.

She briefly wonders how he manages to wear a suit like that without ever getting a single wrinkle into the fabric. He sizes her up as well and doesn't seem entirely apprehensive at the scenario he finds, although his brow is furrowed at the lack of reaction from Klaus.

"Not to disturb you two but Marcel has arrived. I imagine you'd like a word with him, brother."

"I would," he says, finally releasing her to turn towards his sibling, "Assuming he wants to talk about handling the little witch and her covens."

"He didn't quite specify," Elijah responds, effortlessly casual in his formality, "I suspect it may also have to do with the human community leaders making a fuss over the O'Connell resources."

"Right," he faces her again and for a brief moment she only sees Klaus, the man who manages to make her forget herself with his gaze, makes her want things she never imagined. Then he smiles devilishly and she's reminded of the hybrid, the monster ruling this city, "Go ahead and help yourself to the wine, love. This shouldn't take long."

Caroline only nods, highly doubting that a diplomatic – or in Klaus' case, possibly violent – meeting with someone will be over in ten minutes. She stays leaning against the wall as the two Originals leave and their voices dim.

The quiet surrounds her again and in the solitude, it becomes ever clearer that her stay will be anything but a breeze. If she were Elena, keeping a diary, she'd probably record this day as one of the most emotionally draining ones.

Aside from all the supernatural insanity she's managed to experience, it's not only become obvious that the hybrid still has feelings for her but that she feels more or less the same way about him.

The catch being that she's in his city now, where she doesn't have the advantage of familiarity that she had in Mystic Falls. She's a fish out of water here and the only one she can trust is him. Damn it. As if these feelings weren't complicated enough.

She knows it's always an option to change her mind about leaving but right now, she can't think of anything better than to open that second bottle of wine.


	10. I decide who lives and dies here

**10\. I decide who lives and dies here**

The alcohol is almost gone and the clock has moved forward an hour when she decides to leave the balcony. The nightlife underneath her is just starting to get fascinating but she's settled back into a different mood.

Wine is really no good for her when she's alone with her thoughts. She drains the last of the bottle, feels the light tingle of its effect, although it's nowhere near as heavy as scotch.

Her boots click against the hardwood as she meanders around the perimeter of the room, brushing fingertips over canvases. It's his workspace that catches her interest because for someone so obsessed with control, he's pretty messy when it comes to his things.

Papers scattered amongst brushes and oil paints, half-done acrylics stacked in a corner and a pile of sketchbooks all across the desk.

Caroline can't help but linger on the images of his daughter again, the rounded form of a newborn slowly developing into a wide-eyed toddler. Scraps of paper, almost better than photography.

She might not know much about art but she can see there's true affection in every one of those pencil lines. Something so small and vulnerable to protect from his enemies. She knows she would be going crazy with worry over a baby in this place.

Her gaze lands on a particular sketch of the girl, all flailing limbs but with unmistakeable joy in her expression, clearly laughing. It makes her lips tug upwards in a smile because for all the history attached to the child, she is adorable. She can't be blamed for her parents.

She may be born into a dysfunctional family with a terrible legacy but every member seems prepared to lay the world at her feet. She has an immortal group of relatives around that will _always_ be there for her.

She shakes the thought away before her own family can spring to mind again. She knows there's no going back for her, she'll only have memories to live on. But when was life ever fair?

Surely not when her father left, definitely not when she was forced to become a vampire and her mom dying far too young is just the cherry on top of everything that's been thrown at her.

She can sympathise with this toddler. She wouldn't wish a missing mother on anyone, no matter how much she dislikes Hayley and what that girl stands for.

Moving on, she reaches for the stack of sketchbooks. Although she knows that she's stepping into the realm of snooping now, she files through the leather-bound pages. The top ones are all New Orleans in one way or another – landscapes, buildings, different kinds of impressions. She pauses when she comes across a couple of portraits, most of them unfamiliar people until she recognizes Camille's face in light pencil.

It hits her how many similarities they shared, at least physically. The same loose wavy hair, the same large cornflower eyes and the same determination in the features. Both of them with a connection to the Original and both of them somehow caught up in caring for him.

The difference being that she already died and returned as a vampire and the bartender wasn't so lucky. Only one person to blame for that.

She quickly shuts the book, dropping it back onto the pile. Then her eyes snag on the date scribbled in the corner of the one right at the bottom. It's the year he spent in Mystic Falls, the year everything got turned upside down in so many ways. She eases it out from under the stack, touches the hard texture of the cover before flipping it open.

She's surprised at his keen eye for architecture, the way he manages to even make their old town hall look mysteriously aged instead of plain run-down. Just the amount of detail he puts into the shading that she'd never have the patience for.

It probably explains why her grades in art were never outstanding. Maybe this is his way of capturing moments in time, considering that he's probably seen many places built and destroyed over the years.

The pages are always fully used, some with random still life or unclear forms in the corners, others with meticulously shaded landscapes across the entire paper. Her eyebrows shoot up of their own accord when Elena's face looks up at her, only to realize that the coy expression, the cruel smirk behind the dark curls can only belong to Katherine.

He really nailed that essence; she can almost feel the satisfaction at having captured the Petrova doppelganger pressed into the paper.

A number of blank ones follow and she's ready to close it when she turns the page to another portrait. This time, the gasp of surprise escapes her before she can repress it. Maybe that's the wine affecting her but she's honestly surprised Klaus kept a picture of her.

When she shredded his apology gift, it was with finality but seeing this throws her off entirely because her expectations of him are proven wrong again. It's a simple drawing, her head titled slightly over her shoulder in profile. No excessive detail on the clothing or background but she recognizes the setting immediately. It's her prom night.

She's not sure she ever thanked him for lending her that dress at the last minute. He didn't ask to have it back either but she couldn't accept another present like that and made sure to drop it off on his doorstep, dry cleaned in a box.

Now she wonders how on earth he managed to sketch her like this? The pencil lines make her look elegant, the shading hinting just slightly at the pearls covering the material.

She's certain she never actually wore it in front of him, definitely didn't demonstrate her outfit once she'd replaced the stolen dress. Unless he snagged the hired photographer's material from that night, there's no way he could have captured her this way.

Only if he'd been there himself. The idea shouldn't come as a surprise, especially since Rebekah took part as well. She can't tear her eyes from the image and finds it hard to wrap her head around what she sees.

Drawing her from memory like this - she's beautiful in that sketch. Almost understated if not for the way he paid such careful attention to the face, her features finely highlighted. She remembers being happy that night, aside from Elena's infuriating attitude.

It had been a perfect finish to high school in terms of organization and the reunion with Tyler, even for a couple of minutes, made it complete. It seems so long ago now.

Replacing the book in its earlier position, she steps back from the table. There's a strange stirring in her chest again and the understanding that she might truly mean something to him beyond their physical magnetism.

He kept her under watch, which she interprets as still having some interest in her, or at the least in her safety. Each time he offered to take her to New Orleans, she knew it wasn't an empty suggestion but refused to take it seriously.

She can't process the entirety of what it'll mean to stay here, be with the hybrid in the way he wants. She doesn't even know what kind of relationship that could be. He doesn't seem to be a man made for love and yet he manages to make her almost forget that every time they're together.

This is what she gets for seeing the good in him.

Even so, she still believes she's right. That he can be saved from the parts of himself that frighten her, those things that sometimes make her hate him. Parts that are just as real as the charming persona and that are so deeply rooted in his past she doesn't think they'll ever truly disappear.

Maybe she won't be the one to do the healing but surely his baby will play a role. A daughter that will love him as a parent, unconditionally. Just like she could never give up on her dad despite his abandonment, his misgivings and even his torture. It was a love he might not have deserved but she couldn't make herself stop.

Shaking her head, Caroline decides she's waited around long enough. She really doesn't need to be dwelling on these kinds of things right now.

She leaves his studio, ready to lock herself back up in her own room and search for a new distraction that doesn't involve interpreting his artwork or intentions. If the hybrid wants to pick up their conversation again, he knows where to find her.

Halfway across, she takes a second to lean against the banister and take a look at the stars overhead. She barely notices that it's becoming a habit since she left home. There are only a few lights on in the compound so she can see the sky distinctly.

The big dipper isn't in her field of vision but she can make out several other constellations that her mom once taught her to search for. Although she has a better view back home where it's remote with less artificial light, somehow, this moment captures her far more.

She's not one for melancholia but she thinks about how all those light years far away, there is probably way less drama than in the world of people. With everything she's come to know about this planet and the creatures that exist on it, alien life doesn't seem too far-fetched anymore.

She hopes that whatever there is beyond that sky doesn't have to deal with feelings like hers. She also does a great job ignoring the fact that she's being ridiculous, envying hypothetical beings. It's got to be the wine.

Caroline snaps out of her reverie when a movement below grabs her attention. There's a figure crossing the courtyard and she glimpses wide shoulders and dark skin. Although the night has snuck into the building, she can make him out quite well in the dimness and goes out on a hunch that this is the Marcel who was mentioned earlier.

The only visitor she knows about at least.

He walks quickly, force to his stride and she watches with mild curiosity as he heads towards the exit. He's just reached the gate when he looks over his shoulder and stops as he catches sight of her hovering on the first floor.

She's a lone individual in a space devoid of activity, of course he'd see her immediately. She straightens under the scrutinizing gaze and feels an uncomfortable prickle along her neck when the seconds tick by and he doesn't continue on his way.

The man looks up at her like he knows exactly who she is, although she's sure that they've never met. There's recognition spreading on his face that makes no sense to her.

When she blinks, he's gone from his spot and there's a flash of motion coming up the stairs at vampire speed. She only just manages to turn in his direction when he hits her with his full weight, throwing her into the wall at the other end of the corridor.

She slumps against the brick, lungs completely emptied from the blow and head spinning. Plaster is crumbling down on her shoulders and pain runs up her spine, only a single thought on her mind. What _the_ _hell_ is happening here?

The vampire doesn't give her time to contemplate the sudden change in situation, grabbing her by the neck to slam her against the floor while she's still winded. The board protest under the impact and so does she, groaning at the fire flaring up in her shoulders. This guy has got to be kidding, attacking her like she's pissed him off. She hates him already.

"Are you _insane_?" she rasps around the pressure of his fingers, "Get off!"

"It's you," he snarls, a deep voice tinged with anger as he squeezes tighter, "You're the one that made her do it."

That should probably spark some realization but it just makes her instincts kick in, veins rising under her skin as she bucks against him. Trying to land a hit so he'll stop pulverizing her windpipe.

Black, furious eyes bore into hers and what makes this all so absurd is that she just has no idea why that anger is directed at her. She doesn't know this stranger and from one second to the next, he's trying to kill her.

There's real agony radiating through her now and she can't make a sound, throat all but crushed under the stranglehold. Her energy is draining even as she manages to land a couple of blows against the man straddling her. His free hand is drawing back and her eyes go wide as she understands the intention behind it.

He's going to plunge it into her chest, probably take out her heart just for the hell of it. The panic breaking out inside her is justified. No, no way, she refuses to be a victim again today.

Managing to fasten her hands around the arm choking her, she twists as hard as she can, breaking the wrist and distracting him with the incapacitated limb for a moment. Air rushes into her lungs and gives her the strength to punch him right in the nose and feel the gratification of more bone giving way under her fist. It's enough to fend off the hand coming down for her one vital organ.

She tries her best to get the bulky vampire off her, who clearly has far more experience in fighting than she does, easily keeping her down. She knows that she has no real chance against someone much older but it sure doesn't stop her from struggling. Not when there's already a trickle of blood running out of his nose.

There's a furious yell through the buzzing in her ears, something that sounds like a name but it's not hers. The vampire doesn't let up, ignoring it. Her throat is still in the midst of healing when he lands a jab to her stomach, making her curl in on herself.

A strangled cry escapes her lips and in that instant, she's open to attack again, can practically already feel the agony of a hand smashing through her ribs to grasp her heart. She snarls wildly at the thought, thrashing under his weight.

That's when the heavy body suddenly disappears altogether, giving her room to suck in air reflexively. She scrambles to her feet, trying to keep her eyes on the attacker while regaining her wits.

Talk about a surprise attack! This guy has got it down and she has to make sure that she can't be overwhelmed like that again.

Hands are on her elbows and she jumps at the contact, pulling away instinctively. Instead of the dark-skinned assailant she expected, she finds the older brother standing behind her. He's looking at the situation playing out with a grave expression, disapproving. Apparently he was trying to help her regain balance instead of causing harm.

But if Elijah is here that means … she whips her head around, zeroing in on the vampire pushed against the opposite wall with Klaus holding him firmly in place.

Both men are growling at each other, practically nose to nose and not bothering to hide their fangs. The bulky man connects a right hook with the Mikaelson's jaw, knocking his head aside before the hybrid manages to finally subdue him against the wall.

An arm pressed across his throat so harshly that her hand instantly flies to her own neck, feeling the throb of its healing. Even as they stand there, everyone on edge and ready to explode again, the baby starts crying somewhere in the back of the building.

Caroline get's the feeling that the disruption of the child's sleep makes Klaus even angrier at the commotion his visitor caused. There's the audible cracking of bone as he leans further onto his opponent.

"You will not," he hisses, anger colouring every word with foreboding, "kill someone under my roof without permission, Marcel. If anyone is delivering punishment, it's me."

The dark-eyed vampire wrestles with the other man's unflinching grip, gaze still boring into hers with undiluted rage. "Why are you keeping her here? She should be dead!"

"That's not your concern," Klaus cuts him off, digging his elbow into the vampire's neck to emphasize his point. Not that it makes the man cease his struggling or placate his anger.

"She's the one that murdered Cami," the deep voice turns ice cold, spitting the words out like they pain him. There's hurt and fury in those eyes that makes Caroline want to look away, once again ashamed of what she managed to trigger in her time without humanity, "And you protecting her here, you might as well have killed her yourself!"

Oh. Crap. She does recognize him – remembers the man she saw in the vision of the human's funeral. No wonder he's not pleased to see her here. Klaus probably kept this prolonged visit, her presence even, to himself.

She's about to intervene, explain herself or something when she feels Elijah's hand on her arm, subtly holding her back before she can approach. If this is some political dilemma he doesn't want her involved in, she doesn't appreciate the gesture. It's evidently too late to keep secrets anyway. This is about what _she_ has done.

"Careful," the hybrid warns the vampire venomously, "You're not the only one that cared for Camille. None of us wanted this to happen, although we knew it would eventually if she was going to stay mortal."

The veins under the man's eyes don't recede and he leans forward against the hold to throw his condescension at the hybrid just as bitingly.

"And you call this mourning? Cami is six feet underbecause of her. After what happened with your insane witch aunt, everything you took from my vampires and me these last few weeks – I'm not going to stand here and let you do whatever suits _you_ best again. There are people, real friends, that want retribution for her."

"And what makes you assume she has anything to do with Camille's death?"

The vampire is silent for a heartbeat. In the sudden quiet, she notices that the baby's cries have ceased and realizes that Elijah has vanished from behind her. She didn't even notice, so caught up in the intense exchange of verbal blows.

The dark-skinned man throws another glance at her before nodding his head in the direction of the city.

"Davina. Cami told her about being threatened at Rousseau's by a new girl looking for you. A day later, one of her warlocks mentioned a blonde vampire that asked about finding you for some revenge plan. Then she runs into a girl that fits the description outside the apartment and Cami disappears for a whole day without a real explanation. Morning after, Cami, of all people, commits suicide? You'd be an idiot to believe there was no foul play. And this mystery vampire leaves New Orleans without any of us noticing? I can put two and two together, Klaus. So why the hell is she here with you and still breathing?"

"I have my reasons," the hybrid states, never looking in her direction, "As you pointed out, this happened because she was looking for _me_. I'll be the one to handle it."

"I'm not done here," Marcel's gaze is turned back to her and she refuses to shrink back under his accusation, even though she knows now why he is taking his fury out on her, "Davina wants her. I promised to find her and bring her to the coven."

"No," is the answer he receives, simple and leaving no room for argument, "Back to doing the girl's bidding now, are you?"

"You know how close she was to Cami. She ain't letting this go, she'll come for her whether I help or not," the dark-skinned man grinds out, narrowing his eyes while she does her best to keep her face blank.

From the sound of it, she's far more screwed than she thought.

"I suppose if you inform the little witch of her whereabouts, she might," Klaus contemplates.

The man falls quiet, sizing up the hybrid that still has him pinned against the wall. There's a drawn out moment of silent struggle until Klaus steps away, freeing the vampire from the pressure of his hold.

She didn't expect him to give in like that, feels her body tensing again. Marcel remains where he is though, rubbing his clavicle as the bone repairs itself. Klaus is serious, statue-still and intimidating in his absolute control.

"I don't have the time or patience to drain and compel you but take this warning: you know what happens to those who cross my plans. If you're attached to what little remains of your vampire followers, I suggest you keep quiet. Both you and Davina should accept that what happened to Cami was a terrible accident."

She almost can't believe it, the way he's covering for her although they both know it was nowhere close to an accident. She has the sense to keep her mouth shut, still wary that the newcomer might change his mind and lunge at her again.

If it wasn't the obvious choice this morning, she's aware that she should grab her suitcase and leave this city as fast as possible while there's no one else coming after her yet. Trust her to pick the one human who is best friends with the all-powerful witch in town and evidently with a whole bunch of vampires too.

Marcel shakes his head, disbelief all over his face. Then a sneer pulls at his mouth as he leans closer to the Original. "That's rich coming from the guy that makes revenge his life's mission."

"Where revenge is due," Klaus says, indicating the stairs to the vampire, "I suggest you consider my words before running back to the witch. No need to start another feud when we've just put Camille to rest."

There's a muscle clenching in the man's jaw as he clashes gazes with the hybrid. It's evident that he's torn between seeking justice and the prospect of war. She has no idea how many times this kind of thing has happened between the two of them but she reckons it must have scarred both sides. The losses must have been large enough to make them think twice.

"We'll see about that," he finally presses out.

He throws her one last look that promises a painful end to all this before following Klaus' gesture and moving away from the scene.

They both observe his movements as he leaves the compound, throwing the gate open and storming into the night. His shadow is long gone but her eyes remain on the entrance. She can't bring herself to move despite all the injuries being healed.

There's nothing keeping her from walking away but for some reason, she waits for the hybrid next to her to say something, anything.

"Are you hurt, love?" he asks, looking at her closely when silence has settled over them.

She shakes her head, knowing that her body has been recovered for several minutes now. It's her heart that is still pounding with adrenalin, her mind whirling with questions although the attacker already provided answers to several. She manages to crack a joke in an attempt to distract from the real problem at hand.

"Well, I guess you saved me without actually putting me in the situation first."

The corners of his mouth tug up just slightly at that. "I suppose it was long overdue."

He falls quiet again, looking into middle distance as he leans on the banister. The sounds of New Orleans wash over them while he plots and she battles with her better judgement. Like she didn't already have enough proof that this is not the place for her, now she's managed to do exactly what she wanted to avoid. Draw the attention of his enemies.

Almost a whole day into humanity again and this is the result. Just fantastic.

The sound of footsteps has them both rousing from their thoughts. Caroline turns her head, expecting the brother to have returned for another lecture about house rules, only to find Freya standing there.

"Elijah just told me. Do we have a new problem?" is her question, eyes fixed firmly on Klaus.

"Looks like it," Caroline answers, resigned.

The hybrid beside her is clearly of different opinion, facing the question with a nonchalance she doesn't get, given the circumstances.

"Not at all. Marcel and I were simply reaffirming the boundaries about what he can and cannot do."

"Is that what you call it?" she rounds on him, still thrown by how easily he's taking this when there were clearly just multiple serious hints at her death, "Maybe you missed the part where he beat me up and threatened to expose me to people that want to see me dead."

He changes his stance to face her, drawing a careful hand along her neck where the choke marks are already gone. His eyes harden when she pulls back from the touch, still vexed.

"My apologies. If I'd been aware of how much he knew about the situation, I would have made sure he couldn't find you here."

The witch behind her evidently seconds that thought. "Well, now that she's also managed to implicate you, I'd say it's time for her to go."

Even if it pisses her off, Caroline can't find a solid argument against that. She's caused a million problems just by being here and the list of enemies only seems to be getting longer. Never mind the issue with feeding from the hybrid several times a day at the moment, it's better to deal with _that_ far away from here have than furious witches or vampires on her heels in attempts to exact vengeance.

Klaus raises his head though, looking over her shoulder at Freya. "As I've said, she will leave of her own volition or when I see her safety jeopardised. I will deal with Marcel and Davina."

She turns around as well to find the witch staring at her brother with a furrowed brow, arms crossed and entirely defensive in her tone, "You'd put her first and risk disrupting the peace that everyone else is trying so hard to keep?"

There's a glint in his eye and a devil's smirk spreads on his face that sends a shiver down Caroline's spine. She's seen that look before, when an idea has taken hold of him that is likely to result in bloodshed and bodies.

"That peace was fragile to begin with, it was simply a recovery period. You're a fool if you believe the others are not planning their coup. The little witch is building her people's strength and Marcel has been plotting to take back the city this entire time, not to mention the wolves that betrayed me in trying to flee with my daughter. This time was a grand illusion we all took part in while we recovered from Dahlia but I'm prepared to remind everyone who is ruling the Quarter."

Freya looks unimpressed by the explanation, instead asking the question that has also crossed Caroline's mind. "And Hope? You think she'll be safe from all those you plan to demonstrate your power to?"

"I'm more than capable of keeping her protected," he reminds the witch.

"Yes, with the help of your family. We agreed that a warzone is not the place to raise a child," she bites back, eyes blazing, "What did you think letting your _friend_ stay here was going to lead to?"

"Okay, stop this," she cuts in, looking at the hybrid that seems to be buzzing with energy at the thought of going after the threat, "Are you listening to yourself? The only problem right now is obviously me and I'm not going to be responsible for more people getting hurt. Especially not a baby. I can't be in this city if there are people trying to hunt me down. And you can forget me being the excuse for you to go to war with everyone."

He doesn't reply for a moment, focusing back on her and she tries to read his eyes. Silently hoping to communicate that this is already getting out of hand. It's impossible to decipher what he's asking from her, she's drowning in the gaze. Just when he seems to want to say something, the witch behind her closes the conversation for him.

"So it's settled. I'd hurry if I were you, news travels fast in this place. I have spells on this house but they'll be able to track you once you're outside."

She bites her tongue before she can snap something back. Maybe Freya actually means somewhat well for her to get away as fast as possible. From the way she says it though, it's obvious she just wants her gone. Not that she can really blame her.

Since arriving this morning, there's been a dead human body and a violent brawl in this house on her account. Facts that would make her want herself out of there too.

Klaus' gaze burns into her back as she takes her leave without another comment. Feathers whirl around her feet as she pulls her suitcase over to the bed, tossing the few things she has taken out back in.

This was obviously just not meant to be her day, good thing she barely unpacked. Her duffel is still untouched in the corner and it takes her seconds to grab her things from the bathroom and throw them in as well.

She pauses upon grabbing her handbag, catching sight of the notes she left on the bedside table. Her throat closes up again at the sight of them and she has to breathe through the onslaught of dead faces flooding through her thoughts. She shuffles the papers together, zipping them into her bag for safekeeping.

Then there's her current life in two bags and she stands in the middle of the room, completely at a loss. It's just past ten and she realizes that she has absolutely no clue where she's going to go. Or what she's doing with herself, for that matter. This is the first time she's found out that she's on a hit list after all.

She never wanted to be the girl that changes directions when the road gets rocky, always prided herself on showing people that she could do what they thought she couldn't. What is she doing now? Tucking tail when some guy threatens her for something she did when she wasn't in her right mind.

Nobody asks for an explanation, they just look at the evidence and believe what's in front of them. Everyone in this supernatural community seems to think a lot like the hybrid. Act first, ask questions later.

She's learnt by now that en eye for an eye doesn't bring someone back.

The pretty human is back in front of her inner eye, duct-taped to a chair with panic in her gaze and blood streaming down her hand. She squeezes her eyes shut, refuses to let the guilt overwhelm her now when she needs to think clearly.

The bed dips as she drops down on the mattress, raking her hands through her hair. The distress is just under the surface, reminding her that everything she's going through is not helping with recovery in the least.

At least she'd have the time to cope with herself on the road, away from the drama. She should take the easy way out and simply disappear so that nobody can find her. She doesn't doubt that it's possible for the witch to track her with magic but would she really have the endurance to follow her all the way to Mystic Falls? She doesn't know but hopes such a young girl wouldn't hold an endless grudge.

What hits her then is that nobody knows what really happened with Camille. Even Klaus doesn't know the entire story. Those that want her punished only see the corpse with the knife in her heart.

If she could explain herself, she might not be forgiven but at least she'll give them a reason to let their revenge go. None of them know that she regrets her actions; they think she's some cold-blooded vampire from out of town murdering all the wrong people.

Klaus' lie about it being an accident is tugging at her, even though he did it to cover for her. Maybe he's even convincing himself that way. The longer she thinks about it, the more it makes sense.

These people are mourning their friend and lashing out because they are in the dark about why it happened without warning. She needs an opportunity to explain herself, give them some closure and herself the chance to make amends.

Caroline makes up her mind. She wants to fix this situation before she runs from the problem like a coward. She's better than that. No matter that the asshole of a vampire tried to take her life without even questioning her first. Maybe she can alleviate the tensions between everyone just a little bit by being honest.

Perhaps it's also her subconscious trying to stay around the blood source that keeps the hallucinations away but, for the first time in weeks, she feels she's doing something right. She dumps her luggage and wants to head straight back out when the door swings open.

"Caroline…" the familiar accent curls around her name, clearly preparing to dissuade her from leaving once again on account of his family's demand. She stops short in front of him and holds up her hand before he can get started on something she's already decided.

"Where can I find this Davina?"

That's got him taken aback but he catches onto her gist quickly enough, confused at the sudden change in motivation. Especially when she just told him she didn't want to cause a fight.

"Don't tell me you're planning to seek her out, love? She may only be a girl but she's a powerful opponent for a young vampire."

"If I planned on fighting her. But she does like Starbucks, right?"


	11. In every moment, a choice exists

**11\. In every moment, a choice exists**

He blinks, the invisible wall already rising. "No."

Of course he wants to talk her out of it. Not that she really expected that he'd to leave her to her own devices when his enemies are involved. Does he even have someone he considers a friend in this city?

Then again, the way he doesn't even give her the chance to explain her motives before he shuts the idea down makes her angry enough to stop caring. So instead of letting any sympathy take hold, she turns a glare on him.

"You don't even know what I'm going to do."

He doesn't need time to think about that, seems to have anticipated it.

"You wish to negotiate with somebody who will not listen to you," he counters, moving closer and tossing her own words back at her, "A terrible idea."

She raises her eyebrows at his sarcasm. "Better than going and tearing them to pieces, like you obviously want to do. You think that's going to solve anything? It'll just make more people angry. If I tell this witch why everything happened and …"

"You will not," he repeats himself, cutting off the justification, "You believe they are people to reason with in this situation? You'd do better to draw the line between friend and foe, love. You don't know what you are dealing with and I don't think you need reminding that they want you dead - I suggest you let me take care of it. If you wish to leave, that is one thing but _this_ is out of question."

Caroline scoffs at him, this oh-so-superior demeanour he puts on to dissuade her. He should know by now that she will not back down once her mind is made up. As though his disapproval could make a difference when she knows it's what she has to do. Not just for them but for herself, her recovery.

Although it is intriguing that this overprotective side is emerging in concern for her safety, it's the wrong time. She won't deny that this is risky but she's prepared to put herself in a dangerous place for what is right. Just like she always does with her friends.

Her mom taught her to do her best to treat people fairly, to be kind and follow her morals, so that's what she's doing. She owes her that.

"You don't get it. This is not just about me. This is about people that lost a friend and they're looking for someone to blame. That someone happens to be me and I needto apologize for it. Not just to get them off my back - and off yours by the way. If I can't make it right for _her_ , I can at least make it right for her friends."

The blue of his irises grows dark, "You heard me the first time. It's not an option."

He remains unmoved, expression never wavering and she can't help but wonder why he can't see it her way. He was a friend to the human; she heard it from them both. So why is he fighting her so hard when he knows how the others must feel? Just to keep her from going to them and risking getting hurt?

Maybe it's not even that he fears for her but worries about what story they might spill about _him._

"And what would she do to me, huh? If I turn up on this witch's doorstep voluntarily you really think she will just kill me on the spot? I'm turning myself in even though I know what could be waiting for me. She'll wonder why and assuming she's not you, she'll hear me out at least."

His eyes glitter dangerously at her reference to his behaviour, "And what result do you think will come from this? That she will believe you? A complete stranger with any kind of intentions. That she'll forgive you and everyone goes on their merry way?"

She raises her chin in defiance. "Yeah, that's exactly what I think. She's a teenager who just lost someone close to her. I know how that feels and I know I would want to hear the truth, even if it hurts. If she still thinks she has to take revenge when I've said everything, then that's my gamble. But I'm notgoing to wait for her to come after me when she doesn't know the whole story."

He turns quiet, his refusal evident. Then he steps past her towards the balcony. A hand bracing against the window, he stares out into the night and although his posture seems at ease, the tautness in his voice gives him away.

"I can't guarantee your protection there. You would put yourself at risk for the off chance that the witch will abandon her revenge and expect me to go along with this plan?"

"Well, your support would be great so I don't have to waste time finding her but I can do it on my own," she shrugs at the angry glance he throws at her, "This isn't just for her or that Marcel guy. It's not because I'm trying to stop you from murdering people to prove your point – you'll do that anyway if you want to. I need this. It could help to talk about what happened and to tell these people that I'm sorry. I _need_ this guilt to go away. So stop trying to make me change my mind."

It takes another handful of moments brimming with tense silence and she almost expects another retort along the lines of 'I won't let you just because I can' before he finally dips his head. It's barely a nod.

He's not appreciating her stubbornness, obviously, and it's not quite the approval she was going for but it's enough. It looks like he won't stand in her way.

The relief is already starting to rise in her when he adds, "Then I'll be accompanying you."

She feels her expression freeze. Did he really miss the whole point of what she's been saying?

There is no way she is involving him like that, especially not after the display with the other vampire just now. He can't actually believe that it would go smoothly when the number one enemy of the witches escorts her. Like that would make her look trustworthy, showing up with him as a bodyguard. He's too much of a tactician to really consider that a good move.

The longer she stares at his back incredulously, the more she believes he's doing this just to win some part of the argument. To not have to give in to the proposal without laying his own terms down. Annoyance sweeps away any gratitude and she shakes her head.

"No way, that's not going to happen."

He turns back to her then, jaw tightening. Her denial sets the dispute in motion again as he points out the flaws of her plan. They're running in a circle within the argument but growing more irritated with every response, both aware of its futility.

The hybrid shouldn't be able to rile her up so much by looking out for her. He's completely overlooking the fact that she's still a freaking vampire and can take care of herself. All right, maybe the Marcel situation tells a different story but she was caught off guard earlier. She'll be prepared when she walks into the witch's lair.

Another five minutes spent going back and forth and she decides she's done with this. She's told him before that he has no say in her choices and if he's going to be this difficult, she'll leave.

So she pulls out the card she didn't want to play. If he's really asking for it straight, she'll give it to him.

"I'm not your prisoner, Klaus! If I want to do this on my terms, you don't get to twist it to fit your agenda. I'm going _alone_ to do what I have to do. I'm trusting that they're decent enough to listen without ripping my head off. I know that sounds crazy to you but some of us actually do that. We put our faith in people and trust them to make their own decisions."

Caroline is breathing harder than she should when the silence returns, their gazes locked again. She can only steel herself against the storm that's raging in him. That last jibe really hit home.

Maybe because she more or less just used Marcel's words against him, maybe because she called him out on what this is actually about: how he doesn't trust anyone but himself. She can see the effect in the tightening of his shoulders, how he puts physical distance between them again.

She can only wait now. Seconds are ticking away and there's absolutely no motion in the room except for their breathing. When he answers eventually, it's so sudden and clipped she almost mishears him.

"I'll have Davina notified that you're coming in the morning."

Although his words come out harsh and it's obvious he's not supporting this, she's glad. She doesn't ask about how exactly he plans to inform the witch, catching herself before she criticises any involvement on his part again. No need to fuel the fire when he's already displeased with the situation.

"Good," is all she replies. This is what she needed, after all – information on the location and an announcement of her showing up so she doesn't get mugged instantly.

She doesn't give him the thanks he's probably waiting for, still annoyed. Plus, she can't be sure that he won't change his mind by tomorrow. He is still as unpredictable and volatile as always and she's aware that his moods can change in an instant. Especially when he senses danger at every turn.

He doesn't answer and she watches his back for a reaction. He just bent to her will; she doubts he's going to let that go so easily. It's not hard to figure that he's angry at this outcome.

Apparently he deems the conversation over because he turns and leaves the room without further warning. She doesn't try to step in his path and tell him he's being childish, holding back any words to stop him. She knows when to let someone cool off.

As the door falls in place, Caroline releases a long breath. She won the argument but it seems like she just lost any earlier connection between them. But wait … why the hell is she even empathizing with him after how he just tried to control her again?

She tries to shake the thought. She stuck by her plan and that's the most important thing.

She was half-afraid he'd try to end the discussion with a threat because that is what he does best when he feels backed into a corner. He probably knew it wouldn't have done anything except make her lash out too.

This argument was not the best way to stay in his good graces but honestly, there is nothing else she can think of that would be as effective as plain old _talking it out_ with the witch. Maybe it's her ego coming in too. She wants to prove that trust can pay off.

She wants no fighting or bloodshed so she can't have the hybrid there when she's trying to make amends. He has to know that it's unlikely the girl would talk freely with him hovering in the room. But this meeting could placate his enemies; at the end of the day it was her who authored the human's death.

It might make them drop their vendetta against her and give her a chance to deal with her actions. That is if her luck still stands and she won't get her heart torn out for trying.

She really hopes there's a coffee shop nearby so she can come bearing gifts. She can't think of any teenager that would ever say no to a Frappuccino in times of stress or grief. She would go immediately but it is probably best to take some time to gather her wits again.

She forgets that the funeral was only yesterday and Marcel might spill his side of the story before she gets there so she should prepare for that. If he joins them tomorrow, she just hopes she can stay composed around the guy.

Klaus said that he was arranging their meeting for the morning. That leaves around eight hours in which she is determined not to fall asleep.

Not because she's paranoid about anybody breaking in to murder her in here, she doesn't think they'd get past whatever magic is on this compound. No, she's scared of letting go.

When her dad left, every time she did manage to sleep in the first few days, it was terrible. She envisioned all kinds of scenarios even though she knew he hadn't been abducted or anything. It was her childish mind trying to invent stories that made his decision to leave hurt less. Then, she was turned and dreaming rose to a whole new level.

Whatever felt true when dreaming as a human has become so vivid, so clear in details that sometimes she honestly questions if her dreams are reality. How often has she seen Bonnie come back in her sleep only to be disappointed when she wakes up and realization hits? Or Tyler returning from exile to sweep her off her feet but the space in her bed still empty every morning?

Not to mention the dreams that turn into fantasies. Those are definitely on a whole different level now.

But then there are the bad ones that wrap cold tendrils around her lungs and keep her from breathing. They have her jolting into consciousness with her fangs out although the monsters are an illusion. She knows, well, believes there are no more creatures like Silas that can hurt her but it doesn't make them seem less real.

No, she can't let anything like that take over her thoughts tonight. After everything, this would be a nightmare of epic proportions and she might demolish more than furniture in the process. It's stupidly irrational.

She should probably be more scared of her not-so-foolproof plan instead of her subconscious but it's hard to ignore the thundering of her heart when she thinks about it.

She glances at the bed. It doesn't look as tempting as it did earlier. For starters, there aren't any pillows to snuggle into anymore because she's emptied them all in blind frustration. If that's what she's capable of awake, she doesn't want to try unconsciousness.

Tidying the mess will give her something to do, at least. Good thing nobody has sent the staff through here yet. Picking up the feathers is tedious as hell but it's distracting and that's her priority for this night.

So she pulls out her phone and plugs in the headphones, slips her shoes off and gets to work. With Freddie Mercury in her ears and white fluff escaping her every time she moves, she almost manages to forget everything. A scenario where there is neither an angry hybrid nor vengeful witches and no murders to set it all in motion.

It takes ages before the floor is safe to walk across without feathers sticking to her toes and she curses this room for not having a vacuum cleaner at hand. Then again, it's close to midnight and most of the place is surely asleep by now, she wouldn't want to wake anyone up with her antics. If they sleep at all.

She's never really thought about that because this family seems like they're capable of prowling around at all times, never closing an eye. Who needs to rest when you can plot how to get rid of opponents?

She can't do much about the broken chair so she stacks the pieces in the corner as best she can and throws the scraps of pillowcase into the trash. Then the place is as spotless as it's going to get and she sinks down on the balcony in the cooling air. Glass against her back, tiles pressed against her jeans, she sits and listens to the activity on the streets.

Her phone clock says there's way too much time left and even as she tries to focus on virtual games again, it's not enough to interest her. Why didn't she think of packing a book when she left Whitmore?

Right, no-humanity Caroline didn't care about reading. She can't quite motivate herself to go search for the Mikaelson library, although she's certain they have one here.

She can't even start a mindless series marathon because this place seems to be stuck in the last century when it comes to technology. No television in any of the rooms she's been shown and after two attempts to find any, she knows there's no wifi around either. With all the boredom she's been killing in the last couple of days, she barely has any capacity of her cell phone plan left.

The problem is that tiredness is sneaking over her and she needs to fight it. Maybe she should throw something nice on and go party out there with the rest of the tourists, no matter who is out to get her. It would keep her up at any rate.

She considers calling Bonnie again but dismisses it. There's enough stuff happening on that side of the country too, she doesn't want to keep the witch up with her issues as well.

When she's shuffled through a whole range of possible entertainment in her head and still comes up empty, she drifts back inside and flops on the mattress. Six hours to go. If she's going to do nothing, she might as well do it on a more comfortable surface.

She could make a plan of things she needs to do when she gets back to Mystic Falls, practical stuff that she can't forget about. It's her go-to distraction that still passes as productive.

She nods to herself. Good call, Forbes, just keep busy. Her thumbs hover over a blank note on the phone screen for a while before she can gather her thoughts.

 _Clean up the house_

 _Get the paperwork sorted_

 _Get in touch with lawyer about the will_

 _Take care of college formalities – dorm room?_

 _Catch up on what the hell has been going on_

 _Apologize to everyone for being a murderous bitch_

 _Treat everyone that got hurt to something nice_

 _Get Alaric and Jo a wedding gift_

 _Go see Elena_

 _Talk to Stefan_

 _Visit mom's grave_

She stops at the last one, fingers freezing over the blinking cursor. She hasn't seen the grave since she left, didn't go there once in the handful of days she hung around without her emotions.

What if there are no more flowers there from the day of the funeral? What if the stone wasn't set in right after all? Or the engraving, did she even check if it was done correctly? Even worse, what if it looks exactly like she imagines, as she left it that night and she just can't bear to think of her mom under all that dirt?

What would she think of her being here? Caroline knows that her mom never approved of Klaus and only saw the evil in him. If she knew about what she's done with him … what she felt for him even when she was in love with Tyler although she never acknowledged it.

She would disapprove instantly. Not just because he's an older guy (by standards that are way out of proportion considering human life spans) but a killer. With lots of personal issues. She would tell her to get out here as fast as possible.

But her mom is dead now. Not even on the Other Side with the slim chance of coming back as a ghost. There's no witch can bring her spirit back. There is no chance of return and the weight of that crushes her all over again.

It already began to sink in on that day at the funeral but somehow it feels even worse now. She knows when she returns to Mystic Falls, it will be with the knowledge that there's only emptiness waiting.

She won't ever get another apology-hot-chocolate when her mom has to run to the station and bails on a planned weekend breakfast. There will never be another text to inform her of a big case that needs her attention and no more adrenalin when she worries about her getting home safe.

She'll never watch her mom lovingly water the single plant in their kitchen that somehow manages to survive even though both of them regularly forget about it. There won't be any more moments between them like watching Gilmore Girls reruns when they've both had a terrible day and no more flipping through old albums, filled with memories from her human days.

It's all gone.

There's that pain she has managed to block out all day, etching burning patterns into her heart and making her hands shake. She quickly tosses the phone aside to wrap her fingers around her upper arms. It doesn't stop the shivering.

She remembers this. It's exactly the feeling that made her shut it off in the first place, that heavy, heavy weight pulling her down. Her vision goes blank and her skin grows numb to her surroundings, as though everything focuses on the hurt inside.

She can't even cry, it's more like she wants to scream at the world for doing such injustice to the most amazing person she ever knew. Liz Forbes didn't deserve to go and she definitely didn't deserve to be brought to her death by cancer. And she only made it worse by feeding her the blood she hoped would cure her.

She was ignorant, hoping for the best and even though she hopes her mom never blamed her for it, it's her cross to carry. She has to live with that guilt and it's so much worse than the combination of everything else she's done recently.

The shaking has moved up her limbs, she can feel her breath come out in short gasps as her upper body shivers from non-existent cold. She tries to roll herself into a ball, clutch onto herself tighter until it stops.

Like her mom used to hold her when she was much younger. It has to stop eventually and after everything she's survived up until this point, it is only a matter of time.

But then there's the truth staring her in the face. It's in her mom's features, lined with pain and sickness and it circles around her head. There's the inner voice pointing the fault at her and she can't run away from that.

She knows it's her responsibility. She made it accelerate so rapidly with her impatient love, her compulsive need to command the situation that was way past any control. Her vampire intervention tore away the little time she had left with her mom.

She can see the grave in front of her right now, every single flower wilted without a soul there to mourn anymore. A horrible thought that she can't shake even though she is sure she will never leave her mom alone.

But what if it happens? Just what if she starts to forget? What if the survives this week, and the one after that, and a year after that and this all becomes a blur? She wants to recover, of course but what if she loses sight of her mom in ten years, twenty years? If she leaves that grave behind someday?

The trembling has reached her legs and she can't hold herself together when her hands are also shaking so badly. She feels the memories crushing her, her mom is in her head, in front of her eyes; the phantom touch of comfort on her back and it sends her spiralling.

She thought she could do this, after everything that's happened. Turns out she can't face the sorrow better than two weeks ago, only worse.

Her eyes are still dry although she wants to cry, to let it out in the only way that would make sense. She needs a release for everything that is still building inside her because otherwise she might implode.

It's not just the trembling. More like her skin has started burning from the inside out, reminiscent of the blaze of vampire flesh in sunlight. It makes her scratch at the surface, drawing bloody lines over her arms in futile attempts to make the fever stop.

It feels like an eternity until she manages to sit up and clumsily grasps the side of the mattress to anchor herself. Her muscles refuse to be controlled and she can barely stand up. Her throat has taken on the texture of sandpaper and thirst flares up through the mental chaos. She reaches over and holds onto the bedside table, trying to focus on anything else.

College, her friends, her home … no, everything is connected to her mom. She can't even muster the concentration to focus on the people that died on her journey. The ones that are as unattached to her past as it gets. They're far away all of a sudden when she tries to reach them, buried even deeper inside than the remains of her mom back home.

Her fangs ache, slipping through her gums before she can hold it back. She feels the corner of the table break under her grip and manages to swear through the chattering of her teeth. The burning spreads into her throat, her tongue like gravel against the dryness. Another thing she desperately wants to fight is this bloodlust.

But right now, the waves of desolation that threaten to drown her are a bigger concern. There's only one source of relief and in her state, she forgets that she's driven it away three hours ago. It takes several attempts before she can stand somewhat steadily and fumbles with the door.

Never has the hallway seemed to long and she does her best to keep quiet despite how unsteady she is. Her hand brushes along the wall and when another bout of trembling overcomes her, she has to lean her full weight against it to not loose her balance. Why can't it just stop, why can't the hurt inside be enough? She could try to drink that part into oblivion.

Her bare feet come to a staggering halt in front of his door. She can't breathe for a moment, has to crouch down and fight against suffocation that is entirely mental. It's like hands around her neck but her mother's eyes stare into hers as she's being choked.

Why can't her rational mind control this? She tries to tell herself it's an illusion, forces her legs to straighten. She's almost there, so close to finding relief.

Caroline opens the door as quietly as she can with unstable fingers, the click of the lock like thunder to her ears. The room is darker than the outside and as her eyes adjust, she stumbles forward.

Ten quivering steps inside she finds him in the bed, sprawled on his back in sleep. Had she been in any other state, she might have really looked at the unconscious hybrid, bare-chested and more relaxed than she's ever seen him.

All she can look at now is the wrist hanging off the mattress.

Her body starts responding, her breath hitching as she edges closer. She holds it in despite the shivering in an attempt to be silent, hears her own racing heartbeat as oxygen depletes in her body.

She can feel the pulse of his blood now, imagines she can see it flowing in those blue lines so close under the skin. The shaking intensifies, making the motions all the harder to contain.

She stops beside him, barely keeping it together. Her eyes are already changing as she lowers herself to her knees. It's right in front of her. Her fangs slide against her lips as she opens her mouth; lets out the breath she's been holding while invisible hands try to crush her heart from within.

Then she surges forward and digs her teeth in. The skin breaks under the force, blood coating her tongue while her hand clutches at the arm.

The reaction is instant. Although she knew, logically, deep down, that there would be retaliation for being attacked in his sleep, her rational mind couldn't process that possibility. It didn't matter as long as she got that taste.

But as her head is jerked away by her hair with enough force to send her tumbling back, as a heavy body forces her flat to the ground, it slowly dawns that she should have been prepared.

The moment her back slams against the hardwood and she feels the teeth in her neck, reality comes rushing back, hitting her at full force. Klaus is here; right on top of her and he just buried lethal teeth in her vein.

Caroline knows she should make some kind of noise to get his attention but she can't, entirely frozen underneath him. It's when he draws back with golden eyes and dripping fangs that the trembling starts up again all over her body.

They stare at another, taking in both their bloodstained lips until the animal instincts recede and she finds blue eyes hovering over hers.

He murmurs her name in confusion, fingers coming up to the wound he just caused, not quite touching. He looks more shocked than anything, instantly removing his hand where he has it fisted in her hair. She can't think, only feel the contours of his body pressing against hers, that pounding of blood she just had in her grasp.

"What have you done?" he asks in a sleep-heavy voice, finding his anger again.

A loaded question. Although it's obvious what he's asking about, she thinks of everything else.

She's done too many things she thought she never would and the worst of them is haunting her tonight. To add to the list, she just misused him for his blood without permission or warning for the second time. They may just be even. Or he could let her suffer from this bite for defying him earlier and she wouldn't be able to do a thing about it.

"I killed my mom," she whispers because it's only the truth she has on her mind.

She still can't cry, only wants to feed. The pressure in her chest still hasn't lifted.

Her answer seems to only perplex him until he glances at the shallow holes in his wrist that are already healing over. When he moves his gaze back to her, it's resigned because he grasps the situation.

He slowly eases off her to lean against the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. Irrationally, she craves him back. Without the weight pinning her down, her body goes straight back to shaking uncontrollably.

He draws his own conclusion, looking at her struggle to sit up with the venom already coursing through her. It makes her even less steady.

"You came because you need blood," he notes, the ire in his tone dropping away the longer he watches her.

It's not exactly a question but she manages a nod, trying to keep upright. The burn she feels now is a real one, werewolf poison passing through her system and it makes her insides flare up. Instead of asking all the questions he must have, he only reaches over and pulls her close. She can't quite force her body to resist but groans when the motion tugs at the inflamed skin around the injury.

"Next time," he says before reopening his wrist with a swift bite, "you should wake me first."

Caroline doesn't reply, already licking at the gash and drinking what he offers. With every swallow, her body is taken over by tranquillity. Ancient blood restoring the strength she seems to lose at every wrong turn.

It's like pressure releasing, her pain dulling to the point where she can breathe freely. It just makes it all the more clear that she's kidding herself if she thinks she can handle this without him.

She can't make herself look at him when she releases the arm, her quivers finally fading. "Sorry. I didn't want to do this again."

Any other explanation she could give him now would only have him questioning her sanity and with what she's planning in the morning, she can't give him more reasons to keep her from going through with it.

"You were thinking of your mother," he probes and she turns away, determined to not go there again.

"Yeah," she feels vulnerable like this, suddenly very aware of how little he's wearing, how they've got each other's blood smeared across their mouths.

His brow is furrowed, "I believe a tumour was the cause of her death."

It doesn't make sense that he's asking about this and even less that she should tell him about it. It's as personal as it gets and he's supposed to be angry with her, just as she is with him. She was planning to stay out of his way until she got things sorted with the witch and her friends. Instead she sighs, eyes on her feet.

"It was. Until I fed her my blood and ruined everything. I tried to save her and in the end, I just made her die faster. It was my fault."

He's silent and lets that sink in for a moment.

"Caroline," a finger under her chin turns her face to him, "In death, none of these things matter anymore. Your mother's suffering ended with her passing. She would never think to hold this mistake against you, no matter the consequences."

She can't find a reply for him, only searching his gaze in the darkness. Trying to see behind the words and finding only sincerity. He barely knew her mom and still, he can say such a thing and mean it without doubt.

She raises her hand to take his away, holding onto his fingers like he's thrown her a lifeline. It feels like one in any case and she finds a question leaving her lips that she never thought she'd ask in at least another century. Scratch that, she thought it would be never.

"Can I stay tonight?"


	12. You will find real moments are vibrant

**12\. You will find real moments are vibrant**

Contentment. That's all she can feel when she wakes and she couldn't be more relieved. No ghosts, no guilt. The agony from last night seems miles away. She can't even remember falling asleep and that's saying something when she was trying so hard to avoid it.

The more awareness she gains though, the clearer it becomes that she's not in the bed she thought she'd be in. There's a painting in her field of vision that she can't really place and red brick that doesn't match the wallpaper of her most recent room.

Then she picks up the steady rhythm of a heartbeat and the scrape of graphite against paper. Heat rises to her cheeks before she can think to fight it. Right, she never actually went back to her room.

The thought of him right beside her all night seems way too strange but she remembers. How he looked at her, considering her question like he couldn't believe those words actually came out of her mouth.

How he wordlessly stood and got a pillow from the sofa, giving her all the confirmation she needed to pull herself to unsteady feet and move to the untouched side of the bed. How unexpectedly soothing his body heat was even as she lay on the far edge of the mattress, a safe distance between them with her eyes glued to his back.

She stayed awake for a long time, listening to him breathing and certain that he was doing the same. They didn't speak again but his words about her mom kept whirling around her head, over and over. She might just have convinced herself that the blame isn't all hers by the time she drifted off, lulled by the sound of a second heartbeat.

She doesn't think he ever made a move to come closer in her sleep but now that she's aware of herself again, her body is tingling all over, like invisible touches crawling up her spine. The more her mind clears, the weirder it is to think about it.

She just shared a bed with _Klaus Mikaelson_. For comfort. With no ulterior motive in mind. Wow, she must have been out of it last night.

What's even more surprising is that he didn't refuse like any other person would if they had just been attacked. Any other person who lost a friend because of her, who is pissing off so many people by protecting her. He keeps putting her first, over and over again.

This kind of closeness scares her because it's not sexual, not flirty, just way out of her safety zone when it comes to him. It doesn't have the emotional guardedness she's always tried to put between them.

She stays where she is, looking at that painting, an abstract face half coated in shadow. Practically a self-portrait of him, the longer she thinks about it.

He's surely aware that she's woken up and yet, she is glad he's giving her a minute. She can't process what exactly is going with her body, this sudden tension inside that has nothing do with being scared. Leaving herself entirely vulnerable next to him because she found consolation in his presence – knowing what he's capable of – shouldn't feel so normal.

The quiet persists, only the pencil continuing its whispery journey so she finally twists around to face him. Blinking against the morning light, she watches the hybrid.

It's too early to even try and ignore how his upper body is cast in warm gold from the sun, highlighting every edge she doesn't want to stare at so blatantly. Turns out she hasn't quite pushed away the memories of him without clothes. Nor has she forgotten how that body made her feel.

"Hey," Caroline murmurs. She has no idea where to start after everything that happened yesterday. The obvious question about how his wrist feels is redundant thanks to vampire healing. So she waits for him to finish what he is drawing, searching for a conversation starter that's not entirely lame, "What time is it?"

"Seven thirty," he responds, glancing at her before focusing on the sketchpad again, increasing the pressure on the pencil. His tone takes on an ironic cadence as he adds, "Don't worry, love, they're only expecting you in two hours."

"You're still angry about that?" she pushes herself up on one elbow to look at him where he leans against the headboard, sketchpad balanced just lightly against his abdomen. He keeps his eyes on the work, shading something on one side and seeming ever so casual in his indifference. The sunlight is blocked out briefly, leaving his profile in shadow.

"Why would you think so?"

She rolls her eyes towards the ceiling, stating the obvious. "I don't know. Maybe because you stormed out after we had the conversation where I made the better point."

He never stops the motions of the pencil but his answer drips sarcasm. "As you were so quick to point out yesterday, you are not here as my prisoner, which makes it none of my concern if you make foolish decisions."

She scoffs at him. She can't help it when he's so clearly still frustrated that she remains adamant about going through with this. She made a choice that he's not satisfied with and what does he do? Mock her. And here she was thinking she was the more immature of the two, considering all the time he's had to grow up.

"Are you really going to pretend that I'm doing this just to make you mad?"

"I'm sure your motives are perfectly justified," the hybrid shrugs, tipping the sketchpad forward to accentuate something on top of the page, "But good intentions won't be enough if your trust turns out to be misplaced."

"It's not my fault that you don't understand how people work," she retorts with a shrug, sitting up and running her fingers through tangled curls. Seriously, how can this man get on her nerves so early in the day? He brought it up after all.

"After more than a millennium, I understand them all too well," he says, hand stopping its motions over the paper as he turns his eyes on her, "At their core, they are always the same. I simply focus on what they truly want instead of appeasing any good nature."

"Hey," she holds up her hand before he can shower her with more psychological arguments, "You agreed to let me do it my way. So is all this because I made a choice you're not happy with or is it just your alpha complex where you obsessively control everybody?"

He simply raises an eyebrow. "I don't think you need an answer to that."

There goes her plan to breach the subject of what went on last night, never mind the thought to thank him for letting her sleep here with no questions asked. He's obviously in a mood to argue and she knows better than to engage in that again.

Caroline shakes her head and looks past him, out the window. It's the first cloudy day since she came here, a mixture of grey and white that the sun breaks through every now and again. Unsteady conditions, just like him.

She's really tired of these double-edged words. After dinner, she thought they were somewhat on the same page but the truth is she can't figure him out one bit. One minute he's offering her reassurance and support, letting her stay the night for god's sake, then he's back to treating her with this offhandedness that stirs an overwhelming desire to punch him.

It seems ridiculous that he'd go against several people to make her stay and then feign indifference when she wants to do one thing he disagrees with.

"Why am I _really_ here, Klaus?" she asks, scrunching the sheets in her fist.

He catches her eye and she can see he didn't expect the frank question. Didn't expect such a turn in subject for that matter. A muscle in his jaw tightens; as though he wants to say something that dismisses her, reminds her that he already gave an answer that should suffice.

But she knows that what he's doing can't be entirely selfless. She knows enough about him to be sure he's not that kind of guy.

He stays behind the wall of indifference. "It was you who asked to stay."

"No," she makes a gesture at the room, at all that's happened since she came to New Orleans, "this whole year you never tried to contact me but when I turn up you put in all this effort to protect me from everyone in this place. Why would you do that? You ask me to stay when I'm just causing trouble and that doesn't make sense. You're expecting to get something out of this and I want to know what."

He doesn't seem unnerved by her outburst, almost like he expected her suspicions to resurface. She's not a person that accepts being left without an answer but he still sidesteps.

"I don't think you're ready for that conversation right now."

She narrows her eyes. She's not going to argue that case too. "You don't get to decide that."

Under her gaze, he finally puts the book away. In the movement, she can see the image he's been illustrating, page flipped open on the bedside table. They are the contours of her own face, the intensity of her eyes framed by soft curls on paper.

Seems like that portrait in the discarded sketchpad is not the only one after all. It takes her aback because she didn't think he could be using her as a model at this time. Not while his words want to push her away.

Beyond that, she shouldn't be so stunned at the finesse of her features. She knows he's a gifted artist, that he has had hundreds of years to practice. But the way he put down her features in pencil is more than that.

It's his vision of her and the picture speaks volumes about how beautiful she must look to him. It's not what she sees in herself when she looks in the mirror but somehow, he does.

She snaps back to attention when his hand finds the side of her arm; thumb slowly grazing her wrist before settling over her pulse. She considers pulling away for the entirety of a second before his heat soaks into her and she stops caring. He can touch her all he wants, she won't let it distract her … too much. Catching his gaze, she waits for an answer.

"I don't make empty promises, Caroline."

She feels her brow crease, not sure why he's bringing that up when they both know he didn't break his word on never returning to her home town. She showed up in his city so it's not like she can accuse him of that. She racks her brain for what he could be referring too, something she missed in their interactions yesterday.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't promise to be your last because I thought it might change your mind about coming with me. Why would I return to Mystic Falls for something as trivial as graduation? Why would I spare Tyler once more when he came to New Orleans trying to kill me? Why would I forsake my revenge against Katarina after five centuries to spend an afternoon with you? The same reason I would have you stay here. It's not hard to figure out, love."

It's painfully obvious when he says it like that. She probably knew it all along.

The answer is poised on her tongue although she is afraid to say it. It's the depth behind it, the understanding of what he's telling her so plainly, just like he did yesterday. Not that it makes any more sense the second time.

All of those things he did for her in Mystic Falls, she's said the words to him before but it was a life-and-death thing then. She didn't have anything left to fight him with, poison in her system stripping away all defences. She could only tell him what she knew and hope it was enough to sway him from letting her die.

"Because you're in love with me."

He remains serious, searching her face with the look that makes her resolve weaken every time she tries to be furious with him. "What I _expect_ is that you pursue the future you spoke about and find what you're looking for. And when you've fulfilled those dreams and realize you want more, I expect that you'll come searching for me. When you're ready."

"Ready for what?" she breathes with her heartbeat hammering against his skin, the heaviness of his hand. She knows it's an answer she both craves and doesn't want to hear.

He smiles then, as though it was clear all along and he was simply waiting for her to ask the right question. "To live in my world."

She freezes under his touch and can't stop her breath from hitching. It could be romantic, like the sappy movies she used to watch with her friends; the kind of scenario she always wanted but knew was unrealistic. It could be everything if not for the fact that her world is upside down enough as it is.

Plus, her anger at his stoic answers is still present and it keeps her from falling under that spell. She shifts away from his hand and ignores how it clenches when he pulls back.

"And in your world I'll have to fight you every time I make decisions you don't like? I'm supposed to obey when you tell me I shouldn't go through with a plan and get your permission for everything? What makes you think I want to be part of that?"

"You know what I am. I've never pretended to be someone else and yet, you've stayed so far," he points out.

She can't retort anything because it's true. She knew from the get-go that he's not the guy that will make any kind of relationship easy. He's passionate, impulsive and unpredictable.

He'll give her the world if she asks for it but he will also take everything; consume her completely if she stops resisting. It's not possible to ask for the gentleman and not accept the demon with it.

She surprises herself with her answer but her mouth is moving before her brain can catch up. Her voice is back to confident Caroline even thought she's never been more unsure of how to react. She does know one thing though – if anything, this is happening on her terms.

"This, whatever this is, would never work out if you don't compromise. And I don't know where I'll be in ten, twenty, maybe even fifty years. I could feel different – I could _be_ adifferent person. You don't know what's going to happen or if I'm ever going to be _ready._ And how do you know you'll still have a thing for me if I decide to come back in a century?"

He smirks at that and she curses the devilish charm he wears so naturally, like he can see right through her. "I wouldn't worry about that. You made an impression, Caroline Forbes."

She falls silent, trying hard to process everything she just heard. The problem is, in the way he paints that picture, she sees such a reunion as a real possibility. She always knew, deep down, that all the things he said to her in Mystic Falls were not without reason.

He sees that her hometown won't be enough eventually, that her aspirations are going to become bigger. He isn't blind to the fact that the things keeping her there are flighty.

Her family, her friends, her studies. They all find an end while she will continue to exist and be forced to leave someday to protect the secret that she is not aging, just like the Salvatores. He only has to bide his time until she comes to terms with that fact, one way or another.

She will have to leave her mother's grave behind eventually, no matter how much she will hate herself for it. But will she seek him out?

She's tried blocking out thoughts of him for over twelve months, tried discarding his gifts and hearing away every time he came up in a conversation. It didn't make the memories vanish, didn't make the feelings disappear. Even when Stefan filled that hole in her life, when he became more than a friend, she's not sure he'll be the one she will spend her immortal days with.

But all this effort in the hope of having her decide that she wants to be with him someday?

"So you're seriously helping me now so that I'll realize I _might_ want to come back to stay at some point in the unpredictable future?"

He raises his eyebrows at her incredulity. "Is that so hard to believe?"

She's heard that one before. When she thinks about it though, it's not so different from the efforts he put into courting her in Mystic Falls, while she was clearly still with Tyler. That ended in one of the most intense encounters she's ever had in a forest.

Now, it turns out that was just a warm-up for what he was really thinking about. Forever is a long time and he has all that time to wait. This man really doesn't do things halfway.

She clears her throat. "Well, trying to forget you obviously failed so far," she huffs, focusing on her hands instead of those piercing eyes.

He tilts his head, dimples appearing as the smirk grows wider. "I can't imagine why."

Caroline rolls her eyes at the remark. So full of himself but at least he is being honest about his motivations. Now she knows that all of this overprotection, his willingness to give her blood and his standing up for her has a purpose. He's not just aiming for a repeat of their last spontaneous run-in, like she'd somewhat suspected after yesterday's kiss. They're past the physical already.

This is way bigger and it's scarier because she has no idea if this is his way of asking for _love_.

With Matt it was almost there, a time of affection and feeling cared for. With Tyler it was instincts clashing and emotions running high but she loved him the way you only can your first teenage love.

She believed he was going to be the one and only before circumstances drove them apart, before he changed in so many ways. Stefan might even have become love somewhere down the road, their close friendship already turning into more. She ruined that one with her humanity-less rampage.

What's going on here is past any semblance of the romance she knows, it's much more complicated. She imagines that being with Klaus is infuriating and satisfying in equal parts, things she's already seen glimpses of.

He's right about her though, she's not ready. Even so, she can't ignore that she feels something. A mixture of butterflies, lust, awe and a whole bunch of nerves. Feelings that make her forget the evidence of his crimes all too often.

"So that's why you kept the drawing," she says, trying to take a break from her straying thoughts, to not let them overwhelm her. When his brow creases in confusion, she nods over at the pile of sketchbooks across the room, "Of me."

He doesn't seem at all surprised that she snooped. Instead, he follows her gaze and unwinds from his position to get off the bed. She watches his bare back as he moves, almost missing his words, "You looked lovely that night. It would have been a shame not to keep it."

It shouldn't impress her that he immediately knows which one she's talking about. It just makes her more curious about how he got that image of her in the first place.

"Wait, what? You came to prom?" she slips out from under the covers to follow him across the room, trying her best to not pay any mind to how wrinkled her clothes are and that her hair is far from under control.

"I did not. Although I'm sure it would have been entertaining, judging from my dear sister's account of the chaos."

She stops behind him, not quite understanding. That doesn't add up. Where else could he have seen her in that dress? Or was it just another picture he managed to create from scratch, entirely without a reference?

"But then how…"

He runs a hand over the books, rustling through some pages. "I was informed of Tyler being spotted in town that night and couldn't miss the chance to remind him what a grave mistake he made by returning. I wanted to take out his heart. When I found him, it became clear that he had come to be with you. And you didn't deserve ending such a day with a funeral. So I let him run with a warning. But I did take the opportunity to see how the gown suited you."

She's actually speechless. Not even at the obvious insinuation that he spied on her, which borders on terribly creepy. It's the fact that Tyler didn't tell her anything after his return, never once mentioned meeting Klaus that evening.

She's surprised at herself that she doesn't consider the possibility that the hybrid could be lying to her. What good would that do, now that she's not with Tyler anymore? But the thought of what would have happened if he had died that night, devastation doesn't even come close. With all the hatred he has for the Original, she's shocked he didn't spill that story the moment he came back after graduation.

Klaus turns to her when she doesn't respond and sees her expression. "You didn't know."

Instead of confirming or denying the statement, she takes a step closer to him, holding his gaze. Making sure he understands her relief that he held back in his vendetta against her ex. Once more, she just can't wrap her head around the fact that he cares enough for her to even let revenge go. Exactly what Tyler couldn't do.

"Thank you. For not killing him."

He accepts her gratitude with a nod even though his eyes betray how much he would have loved to tear the other hybrid's insides out. She might not be head-over-heels for Tyler anymore but would never want to see him dead at Klaus' hands.

He's still her friend; she cares about him, they have a past together that she would never take back. She won't let him be a target for the hybrid, no matter how much he hurt her by walking away.

"You could have kept the dress," he says instead, expertly moving away from the subject of his least favourite hybrid.

Caroline bites her lip at that, remembering that she dedicated a full paragraph to how pathetic she found his extravagant gifts in that letter two days ago. The one she wishes she never wrote in the first place. Strange, that he hasn't mentioned it yet.

She half-hopes he dismissed it as something she did when she wasn't herself, even though many of those written thoughts had been true at some point. Way before she fell for him.

She'll have to address that sometime but not today. Not when she's about to apologize to an angry witch for murdering the messenger of that letter and especially not when she has to process everything he just told her. All those things that suddenly make the pieces of his behaviour fit together.

Well, she did demand an honest answer and she got one.

Instead of responding to his suggestion, she mirrors his tactic of avoiding the issue altogether. She runs a hand through her hair, noticing flecks of red amongst the strands.

"I should go get ready. I can't face this witch covered in blood."

That effectively snaps him out of the moment. His expression changes, hardening at the mention of her plans to meet Davina. His eyes linger on her cheek for a moment and she guesses there's still a streak of blood there. She drops her eyes, not wanting to be reminded of the lapse in control last night. She can only hope there won't be another episode like that today.

"I suppose not," he says, a detached reply compared to the conversation they just had.

He steps away from her then to open the balcony doors, letting cool air into the room. She feels the immediate distance emotionally more than physically and sighs at the change in mood. Only because she reminded him of what he was angry about earlier. Great.

She doesn't even bother trying to explain again that she's not going to get killed today, that she's got this. If he can't trust her to do this by herself then this voluntarily-living-in-his-world-someday-thing is definitely never going to work out. She honestly doesn't know which one of them is more stubborn right now.

"And an address would be helpful," she hints, tossing a pointed look between his shoulder blades.

"You will be escorted from the compound," he answers, deigning her with eye contact over his shoulder that could not be more casual despite his obvious misgivings, "I've made arrangements."

"So you're still giving me a bodyguard, it's just not going to be you?" she shoots back, crossing her arms, "That wasn't the deal."

She thought she'd made herself clear on that one last night, before the epic emotional meltdown. So much for respecting her decisions. She can already feel herself slipping into ranting mode when he huffs a laugh, shaking his head in response to her question.

"Hardly. He's human."

That changes things. It's actually pretty sad how insignificant human abilities have become to her in this vampire world. She barely considers a counterargument because she knows she can't dispute his point.

A human is no good in protecting her from anything. More likely; she'll have to protect the escort if it comes to a quarrel. But they also seem to be the most neutral party around here and although Klaus probably compelled this person, the witch might just judge her less if she arrives with one of them.

"Fine," she replies and for lack of anything else to add, starts heading towards the door.

She's almost disappointed when she receives no answer, no resistance to her leaving but shakes it off as she walks towards her own room. If he wants to make this more difficult than it has to be, that's his problem. She decides to focus on the matter at hand as she tosses her clothes to the ground and slips into the shower.

Scrubbing her hands over her skin, she tries not to think about his words but they come back anyway, circling around her head. Her emotional baggage just magically doubled. Really, what's an angry, distraught teenage witch versus Klaus revealing his intention to claim her as his someday? The first one, she thinks she can find a way to handle but the Original hybrid is an entirely different story.

Even though what he's proposing is simple. He's giving her the time she needs to have the life she told him she doesn't want him to be in, to figure herself out and find her own way as a vampire. It's completely in her hands to choose to accept what he offers. How very selfless of him.

Screw Klaus and his ability to creep into her mind like this.

By giving her the choice he just puts a pressure on her that makes no sense when she knows she can simply refuse to ever give him an answer. Eternity is a long time to be ambiguous about what she wants.

But knowing there _is_ a decision to be made about this drives her nuts. Damn it, why did she have to push the issue to make him reveal this? Great, Forbes, just another thing on your plate.

When she's blood-free and wrapped in a towel, she finds distraction in searching for something to wear for a formal apology meeting. Even with all the shopping she did without her humanity, where she had no qualms about an insanely high credit card bill, none of the stuff seems appropriate.

It takes ten minutes of rooting through everything before she settles on a plain floral dress with her jean jacket. Nothing dangerous and vampire-y about the outfit that could indicate bad intentions.

She's almost done, combing out the tangles in her hair when the door opens behind her. She turns to see the hybrid standing across the room, still very much shirtless but wearing a new expression, one that instantly worries her.

It's that volatile look, the same one he had yesterday when Marcel threatened her. She concludes that he's changed his mind about letting her follow through with her plan after all.

"If you're here to give me a hard time…" she starts, pointing the brush at him in warning but he doesn't let her finish.

Hands fasten around her hips without warning, pushing her backwards until her shoulders find resistance in a flat surface and then his mouth is on hers and she forgets that she wanted to tell him off at all. Her fingers are in his hair before she can berate herself for encouraging him. The pressure of his lips is the right kind of forceful, stealing her breath while his fingers spread on her back to draw her close.

For a split second she wishes she had the self-control to resist and tell him that he can't keep doing this every time he decides to have a change of temper. That he can't do this without warning full stop.

Then the other part of her brain demands she quit caring about the pleasantries and lets her sink into his embrace. She touches all the bare skin she can find, hands settling over inked birds and sharp shoulder blades.

It's intoxicating to the point that she can forget everything else except the taste of him, the heat of his mouth against hers. She's so lost in it that she involuntarily groans at the loss when his lips deviate from hers, finding the skin of her neck instead.

The way he sets her on fire like this should not be possible. Breathing hard against the delicious sensation on her neck, she finally finds the resolve to bring her hands back to his face, guiding him away from her body to look at her.

The blue of those eyes is so vibrant at their proximity that she needs a moment to refocus. She licks her lips, trying to concentrate. "What are you doing?"

"Reminding you," he replies, ever so slightly out of breath, "Why you shouldn't get yourself killed today."

Coming from him, it's not even absurd enough for her to doubt that it's the truth. Her fuzzy mind isn't processing properly anyway. Instead of doing the truly sensible thing and pushing him away, she decides she should enjoy it while it lasts. Though he'd better not take this as an answer to his question about forever.

"Like I need that," she says even as she leans in again, stubble grazing against her skin as he responds to her kiss.

He's no less demanding than before, expert fingers slipping under the dress and hiking it up enough to explore the skin of her thigh. She gasps against his lips when she's suddenly lifted off the ground, instinctively wrapping arms and legs around him for support.

She hasn't even lost a single piece of clothing and yet her mind runs all over the place, envisioning scenarios that they don't have time for.

Wedged between his body and solid wall, she can feel the clothed friction against her centre now and it's driving her crazy. This is more gratifying and infuriating than that tree in the forest back then. Another entirely inappropriate moment when there are bigger things to worry about and she desires only him.

Her hand finds his necklaces; pulling the beads between her knuckles while her other hand digs into his back for balance. He finds her jaw again, lips brushing along the curve of it and there's really nothing she can do to stop the shiver.

How can he remember all those buttons that make her squirm after more than a year? She might have just found herself the most attentive lover yet.

Klaus is the one who draws back the second time round, carefully setting her back on her feet. He doesn't even bother to hide the smirk at her flushed appearance and it annoys her to no end that it just makes her want him more.

She keeps a hold of his arm before he can put more distance between them, whether for physical support or need for contact, she doesn't really know.

She can't find any words for what just happened. A reminder? Seriously? Because getting her all worked up like this is probably the worst way to send her off into a situation where she's supposed to be mournful. Alpha male complex at its best again. She can only catch her breath and throw him a glare that he can't possibly take seriously at this moment.

That's when the reason for his stopping makes an appearance.

It's a politely hesitant knock on the door and a young man peeking his head inside that has her moving away, trying to straighten out her dress to not look like a complete mess. Klaus remains entirely at ease, addressing the new arrival while she fixes her hair.

"Benjamin, our guest will need one more moment," he instructs the dark-haired youth before he can enter the room any further.

"Of course, sir." Without another word, the human obediently dips back outside and she waits, listening to his footsteps descending the compound's stairs. Well, if that isn't a wonderful first impression for her guide to go on.

She shakes her head at the hybrid, still too caught up in the rush to find her anger again. As she looks for her purse, she throws her hands up in exasperation. So much for keeping herself in check around him.

"You're unbelievable."

"Since you are so confident in your ability to convince the little witch, some extra motivation for caution seemed appropriate," he shrugs, features smoothing out to look entirely innocent.

As if that intense moment just now had anything to do with promoting caution.

"One simple 'good luck' would have a been fine," she throws her bag over her shoulder, "You know, like normal people?"

"If you're looking for normal, you've come to the wrong place, love," the hybrid points out with another meaningful smirk and she can only roll her eyes, brushing past him to follow her human guide down into the courtyard.

She doesn't see the way his expression changes when she leaves. The one that betrays how he doesn't plan to leave this situation in her hands alone.


	13. You deserved far better than this

**13.** **You deserved far better than this**

The warmth of the coffee radiates through the paper cup but Caroline's fingers have started to turn cold.

It's not just the daunting house she's standing in front of; it's the whole vibe around it. She can tell that vampires aren't welcome, even though they haven't come across anyone hostile on the way through the neighbourhood. Not a single suspicious glance or disapproving frown, they walked through the streets like any other tourist and she had almost been relieved.

At least until they stopped at a coffee shop to get the beverages and she lost that assuredness again, Klaus' words rising back to the forefront. Inconvenient, especially when any thought of him comes with the reminder of what they did half an hour ago.

It's just anticipation, she wants to convince herself, only regular control-freak, post-no-humanity problems. Feeding from him so much yesterday, it's simply taking a toll in the form of nervous energy. But she's been jittery since walking out of the compound, even faltering in her choice of coffee – aren't witches more renowned for tea-drinking anyway?

And now they're in front of this mansion. Before she can intervene, the human goes right ahead and rings the bell, entirely without concern. She's somewhat glad to have him here, even though he has been horrendous at small talk for the entire journey.

But his presence means she has at least one person around that is on her side, even if not voluntarily. She looks at the hot drinks and decides she needs to focus on what is at stake here. She needs to think about the reason she came.

The wooden barrier opens moments later, swinging back to reveal a lean, dark-skinned man. Standing there in the doorway, he catches her gaze and pins her down with an inquisitive stare. There's the same hostility running through those eyes as in Marcel's last night, growing stronger the longer he looks at her.

She takes a wild guess that he's also been affected by what she's done. Another acquaintance of the human bartender, someone else she doesn't know but has managed to hurt. The silence is becoming thick with tension when he addresses her, voice laced with ice.

"You are here to speak with Davina?"

Her guide proves useful here when she can't quite find the right reply, rising to the question with utmost confidence. "This is Caroline Forbes and I believe the Reagent already agreed to the meeting when it was proposed yesterday. Ms. Forbes…"

"Can speak for herself, thanks," she interrupts, stepping forward and flashing the human a smile to make up for cutting in. Not that he was doing a bad job but she's not at court here. Not exactly. She wants to explain herself and she gets the feeling that the man sizing her up with that intense aura expects nothing less from someone wanting to make amends.

It's obvious he knows why she has come. This is nothing but a test. He moves his attention to the drinks in her hands, then steps over the threshold and closes the door behind him.

Before she can ask why he's not letting her enter, he clarifies, "I'm not in a position to invite you in and the last time a vampire came to this household, the owner didn't live long afterwards. We'd rather not repeat that."

"So where are we going?" she asks, mirroring his motions as he walks around the side of the building along a tiled footpath. It occurs to her that she doesn't even know his name but then again, she's pretty sure he won't give it to her anyway.

He ignores the question. "You should know that there are witches on these grounds and if you're here with the intention to harm anyone…"

"I'm not," she dispels that before he can even try to assert something of the sort and is irritated at how defensive she sounds.

She shouldn't have to be justifying her motivations to strangers. Especially when they seem adamant on painting her as a monster. Ironically, that's exactly what they did to the Originals back when they occupied Mystic Falls.

Over his shoulder, he continues in a clipped tone. " _Should_ you have that idea, I'll warn you now - it ain't gonna work. This is the home of the Reagent of witches, any vampire that attacks the leader of all covens here won't live to tell the tale."

She feels her hands tightening around the coffees, forces herself not to spill the contents on this guy's back. Even though he's justified in what he's saying, given the evidence against her. It is just unfair and downright tiring to have to deal with this prejudice.

But she holds that thought and keeps walking, "Good to know."

Moving around the house, an arbour appears ahead of them within a cluster of high-grown hedges. Aside from the colourful arrangement of flowerbeds, herbs are also spread along the path and she recognizes a few of them from Bonnie's stash. A real magic garden patch. She inadvertently looks around for vervain and is glad to find none in her proximity.

The man heads towards the arbour and she focuses on it, notes the ivy trailing through the wooden beams, hiding most of the inside from view. He stops at a gap between the shrubberies, holding out a hand to stop her human guide as well.

The young man doesn't look too pleased about the obstruction but quickly finds his manners to give her a nod of encouragement.

"I will wait at the house, Ms. Forbes."

"Right," she responds absentmindedly, eyes already fixed on a particular dark shape behind the curtain of leaves. This is it. She has no clue if she'll live to walk out of this garden again but for some reason, it still seems like a good idea to go through with.

Her sharp-eyed host brushes his gaze over her one more time, as though trying to figure out just what kind of danger she might be. Or he wants to continue to make her uncomfortable without actually saying anything, she can't really tell from the corner of her eye.

"Make it quick," he instructs for good measure.

Caroline doesn't deign him with an answer, walking along the tiles away from the two men. She needs to get her head in the game and doesn't hesitate anymore as she steps through the curtain of green. It could be a trap for all she knows but she can't do anything right now but jump straight in.

She's come this far after all.

She hopes she's prepared for this, having only glimpsed this girl once or twice until now. What does she know about the young witch, really?

She doesn't have any clue what Reagent of witches means except that it's important. A title of someone with power over people. For some reason, she envisions a crown and magic sceptre.

Those expectations prove ridiculous. She finds the pretty girl inside on one of two stone benches, still wearing all black and watching a single candle burn on the floor. From her stillness, Caroline guesses that it's not for a spell. She doesn't need to know witch rituals to understand whom that one is lit for.

There's an elongated moment of silence in which she can't help but admire the way the sunlight filters through the ivy, drawing patterns on the ground and across the melting wax. Then her eyes fix on Davina's and everything else fades into the background when she sees the antipathy in them.

She can't look away for a long time, caught in that hostile emotion and it's the younger girl that makes the first move, cutting into her with words that feel even colder than those of the man outside. There's harsh sarcasm covering up the grief in that voice as she pushes her hair back over her shoulder and stares the vampire down.

"So, what did he send you to tell me?"

There's no need to ask whom she is talking about. Caroline doesn't like how she feels on edge at the reference to the Mikaelson, her skin tightening instantly at the thought. She has to remind herself that this is _her_ decision, her consequences to deal with. She straightens her shoulders, looks right back.

"Nobody sent me. Klaus made the call because I didn't know how to find you so fast."

Dark eyebrows rise in mockery, "Why should I trust what you say? Any of it? For all I know, this is just Klaus trying to clean up his mess without raising a finger. Again. Or another one of his sabotages to finally get me out of the way. He can't kill me without starting a feud now so he sends someone from out of town, someone nobody knows. Hitting me through my closest friends like always, it wouldn't surprise me."

The terrible thing is, she knows that there's a lot of truth to that picture of Klaus. The one she likes to push away when it is convenient. What a hypocrite she is, coming here to plead his innocence in this case when he did exactly the same to her friends back home. Blackmailing, backstabbing, killing when it suited him and there were no apologies then.

But she's different. She can admit her guilt.

She takes a deep breath then, gathering the strength to say what she's been repeating in her head the whole walk.

"Look, you're a witch. My best friend is one too and I know you guys have spells to read minds so why would I even try to lie? I'm not here to deny anything, I want to tell you the truth because I'm the only one that knows what really happened. Even if I don't know you, I know you were close to Camille and … what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry this happened. I'm sorry I hurt so many people because of this."

Maybe her genuine response shocks the witch; maybe it's the mention of the bartender's name that has her pressing her lips together, looking at her with widening eyes. When there's no answer, Caroline interprets it as a good thing. She takes the opportunity to sit down at a safe distance before holding out the drinks. A peace offering.

"One is decaf and without milk, just in case."

The witch shakes her head in disbelief. "What?"

She keeps a straight face, the cups remaining steady. "I thought you might want a coffee. I drank crazy amounts for the first two days after my mom died. I didn't want to sleep."

The girl just gives her a look that tells her she shouldn't have assumed this conversation was light enough to have over coffee. That they are far from friendly enough to share hot drinks.

The distrust is blatant; in all likelihood the witch probably thinks she spiked the coffee with poison.

So she gives up once the moment turns into solid awkwardness, setting one of the cups on the ground and taking a deep swig from her own. Caffeine might just help get her through this.

Davina raises her chin, still sizing her up with open scepticism. At least it dilutes the hatred in her features a bit. "So you came here to apologize?"

She nods, folding her hands around her cup, "It's my fault that she … I mean, I forced her to commit suicide."

The words sound far more horrible on her tongue than she imagined. The longer she looks at that pristine white flame in front of her boots, the more her self-consciousness grows. Her whole intention to come here - how can she possibly talk about this story with a stranger when she can barely say it aloud to herself?

She doesn't dare close her eyes in case the dead woman appears again with her disappointed expression, that accusing gaze on her back.

"Why did you do it?" the witch demands, anger pushing through her voice, "You're not even from here. This isn't your fight so how can you just show up and go for the one person that was good and selfless in this place? What did she ever do to you?"

"I thought your witch informant told you why I was here?" she asks back instead, recalling that titbit of information she got from Marcel last night.

She can't justify herself before making the girl understand how she came to be in New Orleans in the first place.

"Revenge against Klaus," the teenager scoffs, lips twisting into a smirk of sarcasm, "You can't expect me to believe that when he's been keeping you around since you murdered her. Doesn't look like there's any hard feelings to me."

Caroline falls quiet for a bit, trying her hardest to see it from the girl's perspective, in which her story must seem full of holes. She reckons a certain acquainted vampire had something to do with shaping that point of view.

It's got her rethinking how she's been planning to tell the story, leaving out the details about why she wanted to lash out at Klaus in the first place. Those would require explaining her relationship to him and it's getting more complicated to dodge around the subject by the minute.

"You're right," she agrees, "It can't make much sense to anybody human. But all of this started because of this vampire thing, something that happens when you don't know how to handle overwhelming emotions. If you go through something so traumatic that it becomes too much, you can block out the part that makes you human – the one that feels all the stuff like love and compassion or guilt and sadness. And when you flip that switch, your conscience is just background noise and all you want is to have fun and drink blood and if anybody gets in the way of that ... well, it's messy."

By the slight crease in Davina's brow, she can tell that the witch hasn't seen this first-hand yet. Maybe heard of it but obviously not experienced it with any vampire in this city. Damn it, is she really the only one that is terrible at dealing with emotional overload? After only a handful of years as a vampire, she can't be expected to have it all figured out yet.

Instead of questioning the truthfulness of the story though, the witch doesn't argue with her this time. She's fast on the uptake, drawing the right conclusions.

"Let me guess, Klaus got in your way?"

All she can do is nod, finding a place to start by retracing her scheme against the Original. Ever so briefly mentioning that he spent some time in her hometown and still likes to keep them all supervised against their will.

She recounts the journey of her road trip to New Orleans, to finding Camille and choosing her as the ideal victim to send a message. She doesn't elaborate on what exactly she wanted the bartender to give to the hybrid.

All the way up to the description of that day in the hospital, her voice stays strong but when she tries to repeat the instructions she gave to the human, it falters.

"I…" she starts and has to pause because there's a dryness to her throat that wasn't there before, "I compelled her to deliver the message and then stab herself. My idea of getting back at Klaus was to take away someone that actually cared about him. It seemed like a great plan when I had no problem with hurting people. And the worst part is that she knew it was coming the whole time and couldn't do anything to stop herself. When he came looking for me, I knew she'd done it. I'm pretty sure he wanted to kill me for it."

The witch finally raises her head from looking into the candlelight, tears slipping over her cheeks in glistening lines. She doesn't try to hide them. Despite her composure until now, that confession seems to have caused a fissure in the mask. Caroline is surprised to find her own eyes burning in response and blinks against the tingle of wetness.

There's the familiar wave of guilt lapping at her feet, growing in strength every passing moment. She tries to breathe against it because another breakdown would be the worst possible thing right about now. There's no Klaus to feed from and she's sure her uncontrollable, emotionally overwhelmed side won't be a good addition to this.

When Davina finds her voice again, she asks the question that went through Caroline's head as well.

"Then why are you still alive?"

She should have seen that one coming but it still feels like the air stops in her lungs. It's the obvious gap in this scenario. She can only pull her shoulders up in a shrug even though she knows the answer.

It wasn't the hybrid's intention to torture her back to humanity so she could feel terrible. There's no revenge plan, which is more than unusual for him. She wants to say the truth is something more selfish, more dangerous even. But she can't tell Davina that story when all this depends on proving she has no alliance to the hybrid.

"He must have thought this was a better punishment than ripping my head off. I feel everything ten times over now and I'm just … I'm so sorry. I wasn't myself for the last two weeks and I didn't want any of this to happen. I messed up and now your friend is dead and all I wanted to tell you is that I would take it back if I could."

The witch keeps glassy eyes fixed on her and she is half-afraid that the girl doesn't believe the explanation at all. She can't do much more than say, honestly, that she feels terrible.

She is just contemplating a better answer when the protective male witch suddenly steps into the space, pulling both of them out of their stupor. The younger girl quickly wipes a hand over her cheek, brushing the traces of their conversation away.

"What is it, Vincent?"

The dark-skinned man takes in the reddened eyes on both sides but doesn't comment. He focuses on Davina, a strange edge to his tone.

"We need to talk."

"And it has to be right now?" the witch retorts, covering up her husky voice by clearing her throat.

Caroline looks over at him, catches the eyes flicking in her direction for a second. A distinct feeling of foreboding starts to build in the pit of her stomach. Especially when his words suggest that the news has something to do with her.

"I think you'll want to hear this now."

The witch rises with a sigh, taking care to step around the candle, and follows him. She looks back at her just before slipping outside and for a moment, the vampire considers walking right out of here too.

But that would probably shatter all good faith and she still has one thing she wants to get off her chest. She can't hear anything and figures the two have moved well out of earshot so she can't listen in. That's encouraging.

She drains the coffee, staring into the single, swaying flame on its sinking pile of wax. When she raises her eyes again, there's her most recent victim right across from her on the other bench. She startles a bit to see her, that bloody gash in the shirt drawing her attention right back to her guilt. No, not now, she can't let it get to her.

The bartender doesn't look accusing for the first time since appearing like this though, she only meets her gaze evenly. But Caroline feels that clenching in her gut, telltale tears springing to the corner of her eye as she realizes that she still hasn't managed to shake off the incident. It'll take more to forget this.

"If I could take it back," she repeats to the shadow that's only hers to see, "I would."

As always, Camille doesn't give her a reply but drops her eyes, staring at her own funeral pyre. The vampire fists her hands in the hem of her dress to keep the knot in her chest from bursting all over again. She's done so well at keeping it together so far today, she's not giving up that fight now. Davina seems to be caught up in her story so maybe, just maybe, there's a chance of forgiveness here.

But when footsteps approach the arbour, the fact that she can hear three pairs of feet pulls her out of her reverie. The image of the human evaporates as she stands, taking a step away from the opening.

She lets out a breath, trying to clear her mind from its insistent rollercoaster ride of what-ifs. Turns out that at least her hearing is on point. It's not just the Reagent and her witch bodyguard that return. There's another new acquaintance.

"Marcel," she states, keeping a tight hold on her features to stop her true face from showing. The dark veins instinctively want to rise to the surface at the memory of last night. Wouldn't it be the surprise of the day if he were also here to apologize? But she's got enough intuition to know that chance is close to zero.

The older vampire doesn't address her, crossing his arms and remaining in the entrance. It's the young witch that steps up to her again with a carefully contained expression. There's something in her eyes though, something morphing between worry and fury and it lets Caroline know something is going on that might make her whole apology useless. More importantly, she's wondering why the hell Marcel is suddenly part of the group.

"You said you want me to know the truth," the witch uses her words, holding out open palms, "I need to be sure you're the person you say you are."

The walls of uncertainty rise instantly and she throws a sharp look at the duo standing behind the girl, effectively using their bodies to cage them in the space. It obvious that this just turned into an interrogation.

One of them has convinced the witch to investigate the truth of her account and she'd lay her bet on Marcel. Although, out of the three of them, he should know best what a lack of humanity can do to a vampire.

She raises her gaze from the offered hands to turn her head in the direction of the two men.

"Why? Because these guys have a problem believing me?"

Marcel takes that one, eyes narrowing, "Because these guys think that circumstances make it a smart idea to double-check those who say they have no bad intentions."

"What circumstances? We've just been talking," she snaps, patience wearing thin.

Here she is, sharing her vulnerabilities with a girl that she's never really met, and it's still not enough to convince these people that she didn't kill out of cold blood. Has she not just made clear that she isn't the bad guy in the equation…or at least not anymore?

"I only need you to let me into your mind for a moment," Davina clarifies, "To make sure."

She stares at the young witch, a thousand options of how this can go terribly wrong running through her head. She knows that delving into minds is not a selective process, not as a vampire and definitely not as a witch. It's not like compelling, where she can give instructions.

It's possible to catch glimpses of anything, things that might be subconscious, feelings and memories that are private. The witch might just see the truth about her and Klaus and who knows what that could result in.

She decides that offense is the best defence here; she's the one being cornered after all.

Trying to buy time, she replies with just enough annoyance, "I'm tired of everyone assuming things about me. This whole city runs on people being suspicious of each other. I told you, I didn't come here as your enemy. Whatever this is about, just ask me."

"That's a privilege for people we know we can trust," Vincent cuts in, "And when somebody conveniently goes missing on the day a stranger visits the Reagent, that seems damn suspicious."

That throws her off for a second. Somebody disappeared? Not that she knows much about New Orleans but aren't vanishing people a daily occurrence at this point? If Mystic Falls is a vampire nest, then this city is practically a whole colony.

But whoever went missing seems to be someone important to this trio, otherwise they wouldn't be putting her on the spot. She suppresses a sigh of relief because it's finally one thing today she knows that she's definitely not responsible for.

"Why would that have anything…" she starts but abruptly loses her train of thought when Davina reaches over without warning and grips her hand, establishing skin contact. Her reaction is too slow; even as she wants to pull back she can feel the witch's power flowing into her, freezing her in place as she probes into her thoughts.

It's almost like the experience of snapping back into her humanity. There are random flashes in front of her eyes, moments passing by so fast she can barely keep track. Her friends, her mom, her history.

In that disorienting feeling of being detached from her own body, she can feel the girl searching inside, fishing for a piece of information that Caroline couldn't try to hide, even if she wanted to.

Mere seconds must have passed but when Davina releases her again, there's fatigue crawling through her that has her stumbling back onto the bench. The magic of the head of witches leaves her dizzy as she regains control of her body and she immediately feels foolish for thinking this girl wouldn't use her power against her. As if she hadn't already learnt the lesson that a book shouldn't be judged by its cover. Stupid good faith.

She catches the gaze of the witch, who also looks slightly dazed. Probably still processing everything she managed to see. If Caroline wasn't wary enough of her at this point, she would be fastening her hands around her throat.

She feels invaded, far worse than when Klaus entered her mind to show her the consequences of her actions. This was an attack. She really regrets getting those coffees out of pure niceness.

In the next moment, that anger gets forced into the background as she realizes that she has no clue what advantage the witch just gained. Did she see anything important? Could she sense that she didn't tell her the whole truth about her connections to Klaus before? Is it even smart to ask?

Davina looks at her, new knowledge painted on her face and she can only stare back, silently trying to stop her from saying anything.

"It wasn't her. She doesn't even know who he his," the witch says finally, breaking their connection to address Marcel, "But if she's not involved, who would do this? Josh didn't hurt anyone."

The bulky vampire responds with a doubtful expression, the other man touches his fingers to his temple in thought. Her mind is also running a hundred miles per hour, trying to piece together what is happening here. If only she knew the guy they are talking about.

"I'm telling you, there were signs of a struggle at my place and if it ain't the Crescents or the witches, then that doesn't leave that many people who could have a problem with him," Marcel clarifies, "He's only been back in town for a few days. I don't think it's about Josh, D. This is to get at you. It's gotta be somebody who knows you're close to him."

There's a beat of silence and the answer, so obvious, logical, rushes through her head just as Vincent voices it.

"Like Klaus."

Three pairs of eyes turn back to her and the urge to show her fangs comes back full-force. If she makes a break for it now, there's no way out that doesn't involve a lot of bloodshed - most likely hers - and running from furious witches, so she suppresses that desire.

She doesn't have to see Davina's expression to know that the girl is doing the math, finding the intersections of these events. She's only just figured it out herself.

She realizes that she is angry, not just at how they are cornering her but at the hybrid with his inability to let anybody handle things alone without having his own plan involved.

So from what she gathers, Klaus kidnapped someone just in case the witch decided to ignore her apologies and threaten her life. She should have guessed. Why else would he have let her go with no further precaution than a human guide?

Any notion of repentance is officially ruined by the fact that she has to justify herself again for being the root cause of this new problem.

"Josh is leverage," the brunette's voice trembles with comprehension.

"For her?" Vincent raises an eyebrow at Caroline, "Doesn't make much sense to me. She crossed the wards, so she's definitely clean and if she ain't here to attack you, what's the point of taking your friend hostage?"

Marcel's gaze rests on her too and as the silence stretches, she finds herself with two plausible options. Either tell them exactly why Klaus is doing this, as far as she can judge, or dodge the topic altogether and offer to retrieve this person herself.

If it's only a security measure, then Klaus should have no trouble letting him go as soon as she's back. If they even let her out of here now. From the looks of it, that possibility is quickly fading away.

Damn him, everything was going so well. Of course he couldn't resist involving himself in the only way he knows is effective. It doesn't once occur to her to be grateful because, as usual, he's just messing things up. Thirst flames up in sync with the panic in her system and she's itching to punch the hybrid just as much as she's eager to sink her teeth into his neck.

It's Davina who fills the quiet, the flame reflecting in her eyes as she faces the candle again. Where the young girl's demeanour was almost sympathetic to her before the interruption, there's nothing there now.

She simply looks pissed off and Caroline can't even blame her. She doesn't know much about this girl's history with Klaus but it looks just about as bad as with every other witch she's encountered.

Her voice is low but firm. "It doesn't matter. He'll put down his terms soon enough and if he's going to play it that way, I have to react before he has the advantage. I said I wasn't going to let that family control me ever again and if I'm going to be a Reagent that the witches respect, I can't let Klaus do this," the witch declares, "I'll play his game until he gets that he can't mess with me anymore."

"Hey, wait a minute…" Caroline starts but gets no further when Marcel appears behind her, catching her arms behind her back in anything but a comfortable position. She struggles for a total of three seconds before she realizes it's pointless and tries to appeal to the witch instead, "Just let me…"

"No," Davina stops her attempt at defending herself, "You might really regret what you did to Cami but I've seen enough. If Klaus wants you back, he'll have to come get you himself and for once, he will do it on my terms. I'm sorry but you shouldn't have come here."

With that, she can only watch speechlessly as the witch walks out of the arbour without a backward glance, leaving her at the mercy of the other two. Well, that went anything but smoothly.

She finds Vincent's black eyes trained on her and does her best to meet them evenly, "You don't have to do this. I can find…"

"Don't bother," the vampire cuts in from behind her, "This has been a long time coming."

"Speaking of it, you should get out of here, Marcel," the witch remarks, "You might still be in Davina's favour but these are witch grounds and it might get busy here real soon. I'll take her and you can send Klaus' little servant back to deliver the news."

"And maybe you should remember who has been helping you witches out for the last couple of weeks. If this works, I want a seat at the negotiations table."

The grip on her elbows tightens for a second and she has to hiss in a breath through her teeth. She has no idea how old this guy is but he definitely knows his strength and is reluctant to let go of her.

Probably still itching to break bones for what she did. The other man stays adamant though and as she feels the hands being removed, she considers, for a fleeting moment, making a run for it.

It looks like it's going to be her only opening and if she makes it past Marcel and simply keeps running, not stopping until she's out of New Orleans or somewhere deep enough in the marshes to hide for a while, she has a chance. Screw going back to the compound, they'd find her there anyway or track her down when she leaves.

She told Klaus she's not going to be his excuse for a war but now, by the looks of it, she has become just that. A powder keg placed between the parties in New Orleans. An unlucky figure in a chess game that was started long before she was put on the board.

This is really not shaping up to be a good week so to hell with it, whatever decision she makes it is going to be a bad one.

She takes a grand total of two sprinting steps towards the exit before a steel arm slams into her ribcage, punching the air right out of her and sending her backwards onto a stone bench. Irrational it was but at least she tried.

She claws at Marcels hand that's back on her throat, trying to use the horizontal position to smash a heel into his leg but he's on top of her instantly, pinning her faster than she can recover.

She knows it will spare her pain to capitulate now but the familiar weight of her opponent makes her more angry than careful. One fist makes solid contact with his cheek but that doesn't phase his hold in the least, simply making the veins rise under his eyes as he releases his fangs. Looks like she won't get around the bloodshed after all.

The incantation being murmured behind her only reaches her ears when the older vampire has already slammed her against the unforgiving surface twice, sending a burst of pain through her left shoulder and making her see stars.

She risks a glance at Vincent, the second threat, still standing at the entrance of the arbour and glimpses his hand stretched out towards her. Then, there's agony in her head and she's back in oblivion.


	14. Perhaps it's time for a new story

**14\. Perhaps it's time for a new story**

The prison this time is not an elegant room but some kind of cellar. A definite decline in comfort from her most recent captivity. When she comes to, all she can see around her is red brick, candles and the remnants of what looks like an altar.

She doesn't really want to think about this being some kind of underground church … or possibly a crypt. She is also alone in total silence, which makes it even creepier.

The good news is that she's not doped up with vervain or shackled in any painful restraints. But it also doesn't take her long to realize that she's not going anywhere. The minute she tries to leave the alcove she woke up in, there's an unyielding barrier of air holding her back.

With a diameter of about five metres, there aren't all that many ways of breaking out. She'll bet that smashing through the wall behind her won't make much of a difference. Spells like this don't stop at physical boundaries.

She can't help thinking that if witches ran the world, there would be zero need of prisons or holding cells anymore. Trapping people in their own homes would be just as effective, if not more frustrating because they could see the world continuing without them, right outside. The difference here being that she doesn't even know where _outside_ is.

After trying to call out for a while, in the faint hope that someone might hear her, Caroline resigns herself to waiting again. Either this barrier also absorbs sound or there is literally nobody in the vicinity. At least there's no stake in her shoulder this time and she can think about everything without bloodloss making her head spin.

She's still not sure how the situation escalated so fast. One moment she could feel a common understanding growing with Davina, in the next she was being reduced to bait for the hybrid. She hates that it's such a familiar feeling.

At least they didn't let Marcel hang around to guard her. She has no doubt he'd thoroughly enjoy putting her down the entire time. From what that Vincent guy said, she gathers that the vampire is more of a friend to the Reagent than the other people in the witch community.

A weird relationship, considering all she's heard about the ongoing battle between species here, where nobody seems to be friendly with anybody but their own people. Why would a teenage witch trust a vampire so easily?

Come to think of it, she's pretty sure the girl has crazy amounts of pressure on her. Leading all the covens of a whole city, that's a handful. Sure, her first impression today was of a strong-willed young woman, but not necessarily an experienced leader.

She can't be older than eighteen and to have people relying on her to make decisions that affect everyone … she knows it's more than she would have been able to handle at that age.

Not that those personal issues are any excuse for this ridiculous situation of holding her hostage and dumping her in some tomb for safekeeping. Until Klaus decides to respond, in any case. Maybe even indefinitely if she proves effective as a bargaining chip.

She's really starting to feel like a puppet being passed around, with everyone wanting to use her for their benefit. To top it all off, it's her emotions that are getting her into trouble again. Caring to do the morally correct thing got her into this cell.

If she had remained without her humanity and not gotten caught in the first place, she might be sipping cocktails somewhere around Hawaii by now. Not that she wants to go back to being like that.

Wishful thinking isn't helping her get out of here either so she stops mulling it over and forces herself to search for a way out.

She walks around the limited space again, testing the reach of the barrier spell. It's definitely solid when she kicks against it, an invisible wall along a line of chalk on the floor. There's no wiping it away, no matter how hard she tries.

If she had her phone on her, she could at least try to reach Bonnie to ask about breaking these imprisoning spells as a non-witch. Of course they thought of that and put her bag outside the space, just beyond the barrier.

It occurs to her that they might be keeping her here to kill her but that runs through her head only as a distant notion. Klaus is still holding their friend hostage and from the looks of it they don't want anything to happen to him.

It's all a matter of demonstrating power and seeing who backs down first and since it would irreparably bruise Klaus' ego to admit any weakness, that's probably not happening anytime soon. She can imagine him torturing the living daylights out of that kidnapped guy before ever considering the witch's ultimatum.

The real question is: what does this mean for her? Would they inflict equal amounts of torture to hit back? Starve her until some kind of agreement is made? Davina doesn't seem like that kind of person but after what just happened, she's prepared to be surprised again.

Worst-case scenario is that Klaus stays indifferent to protect his reputation and doesn't plan to help her at all. He warned her about doing this and any proclamations of caring for her mean little when she can't judge his position amongst these people.

Other worst-case scenario – he really starts an all-out war only because of this unfortunate turn of events. All she can do right now is wait and see. She swears into the silence, hitting the immobile barrier once more in frustration before sinking down against it.

Insane, how much easier her life was just three years ago when the biggest concerns were which boys liked her and how much more efficiently she could run school dances. She's lost count of how many times she's been kept as a prisoner by different people since turning.

She walked away from those experiences exhausted, with a rapidly healing body and damaged mind, cursing the world for drawing a target on her back because she chose the wrong friends.

This time is hard not because there is pain but the fact that there's nobody around. She's not made for solitary confinement. Boredom has her back in its grasp soon enough, especially since it's impossible to tell time down here aside from how far the candles have burned down. She reckons they're probably everlasting magic candles anyway.

The constant quiet is also terrible. Between dozing and counting as high as she can go without losing track, she hears Liz' lecturing voice on getting herself into a situation like this. For once, it thankfully doesn't make her slide into grief but keeps her afloat on the memories of her mom. She concentrates on separating the good ones from the most recent ones.

She recalls the day her mom got promoted to sheriff. How shiny the new badge looked on her uniform, how she had been bursting with pride at the sight and hadn't wasted a second telling all her friends about it.

In contrast, how helpless her mom had been when faced with Caroline's make-up collection after she'd requested a second opinion on which colours went best with her outfit. The day that she brought home her first boyfriend and Liz had all but chased him off by putting on the I'm-always-on-duty-when-it-comes-to-my-daughter act.

She looks at the stretch of brick wall across the space and sees her right there, in the flesh with the sheriff's badge on her chest. Her mom, her biggest supporter, her idol. Just like with Cami, there's something different about her today, something less drawn and disappointed, even if her eyes betray the struggle of her last days alive.

She wants to reach out and wrap her arms around the woman but her limbs feel glued to the ground. In this place made for the dead, her body knows better than her mind that it's not real.

Caught up in the illusion, she only notices the sound of heels against stone when the person is almost behind her. Unprepared once again, even though her hearing should have picked it up easily.

She's on her feet in a flash. While spinning to face the visitor, she's already stealing herself for an attack. Except that it's only doe-brown eyes looking back at her as Davina leans against the broken altar, bracing her weight against the stone.

"What do you want?" she asks before the witch can open her mouth.

She's a little stunned at how angry it makes her to see the girl again. Maybe it's the lack of explanation she's received up till now. That confidence in standing on the other side of the barrier while Caroline is totally at her mercy also doesn't help.

The question makes her captor look uncertain, glancing towards the entrance before taking a step closer.

"I just wanted to be sure you're fine. I was maybe a little harsh earlier."

Her eyebrows shoot up at that and despite the surprise at this change of tone; she honestly can't help her sarcastic answer. All right, so the girl is admitting to going about things the wrong way but it's just stating the obvious. It doesn't change the fact that she's trapped here against her will.

"Really? So you don't usually bodily drag your guests off the property?"

"If they are vampires, they know that they shouldn't be there in the first place," Davina points out but backtracks at the cutting look she receives in response, "I've never taken someone prisoner or anything like that. But this is different. My friend is in danger and I have something to bargain with that will save him from being killed. I'm not letting Klaus get away with taking someone else that I care about just to show how much power he has."

It's too bad she can understand exactly where the girl is coming from. She's sure she would have done the same to save Elena or Bonnie. It's just never occurred to her how it is to be on the receiving end. She nods mutely while trying to work out how to make her see that this plan is very unlikely to work out in the witches' favour.

"And why are you using me to negotiate?" Caroline counters, making an attempt to sway her, "I came here to teach him a lesson, remember? At the very least, I pissed him off a whole lot. We all know that the Originals only care about themselves and after what happened, I'm the last person Klaus would come to rescue."

The witch regards her for a while without answering. Something about her body language tells Caroline that she sees right through her bluff. After throwing another glance in the direction she came from, Davina breaks eye contact and moves to retrieve something from the depths of the room.

She hears the grating of a match as it catches fire and then there's a light plume of smoke filling the room. Latin incantations roll over the girl's tongue, words she doesn't know but hopes aren't directed at her. A moment later, the witch returns, holding a bowl of what appear to be dried herbs that release a dense perfume as they burn.

"Sage," she explains, "I spelled it so that it stops anyone from eavesdropping."

Despite wanting to point out that there have been no other people around for hours, she realizes that this precaution could go both ways. The girl's intention is either to hurt her until she spills the truth and mask the noise with this stuff or to have an even more private conversation than before.

So her question seems justified, even if she's not sure she wants to hear the answer.

"What do you need that for?"

"I thought about what you said before and realized that we could work better as allies, not enemies," Davina says, "None of the witches would understand if they found me making deals with vampires but I believed you when you came to say sorry for what happened. Nobody does that around here. There are casualties all the time and they just get brushed under the carpet like nothing happened. And you … you did something decent today."

She blinks at the observation, really not following where this change of heart came from. A couple of hours ago, she seemed ready to toss all her apologies aside. And why does this talk make such secrecy necessary? It's not like there's anybody around to listen in.

Either way, the girl is more perceptive than she's been giving her credit for and the sympathy towards her grows a little again.

"I thought it was important," she explains when the other girl remains quiet, "I think not knowing what happened is much worse for everyone who needs to grieve."

"Yeah," the witch agrees, dropping her gaze to the floor as she places the sage on the altar. She wonders if the girl is trying to hide misty eyes again and decides to switch subject.

"Why would you need me as an ally anyway? You said it yourself, I'm not from here, I don't have any idea about half of what's going on and I'm not planning to get involved in these feuds. I was going to get out of here after coming to you. Oh and if you haven't noticed, I'm not really free to help with anything - kind of busy being stuck underground here."

"I get that. This is not about what's happening between the witches and the vampires," Davina responds, absently running a finger along the bowl, "But you and me, we have the same problem."

"Which would be…?"

The girl looks over at her, entirely serious, "We both have feelings for a Mikaelson."

She didn't see that one coming and is pretty sure she gapes at the witch for a few moments. Not just because she apparently saw, with only a single mind-invading touch, one of her deepest and most conflicting feelings, despite best efforts to conceal it.

But did she seriously just suggest that she has similar affections for one of them? How absurd, considering the reaction she saw earlier towards Klaus and the whole family that comes with him.

"Uh… what?" is her highly eloquent response, still in shock.

Despite everything that could possibly be going through her head right now, she really hopes it's not the hybrid that Davina is referring to because that would make things seriously awkward. Really, beyond awkward.

Plus, she would seriously have to re-evaluate her radar for detecting these kinds of things. Since she has no idea what to do with this information, she waits for the witch to elaborate before she draws totally wrong conclusions.

The girl in question looks conflicted, as though she is pondering if it really is the best idea to share this with her. Eventually, she moves closer to the barrier.

"Listen, the reason I put you here is because you obviously mean something to Klaus. He will try to get you back, like I want my best friend back. Maybe he was angry about what you did to Cami but that doesn't change anything. He cares; otherwise he wouldn't have kidnapped Josh. And unless you made up all that stuff I saw in your head, it looks like you also feel something for him. Even if you don't want to. And maybe, I'm in the same boat."

So much for being able to shield any delicate information from her. Caroline resigns herself to the fact that this girl seems to know all her secrets by now, which leaves her at a total disadvantage. But aside from trying to process the implication behind those words, she still has a question that needs answering.

"So you have a thing for Klaus?"

"Oh God, no," Davina exclaims, shaking her head in earnest, "Ugh. Never. No, it's Kol."

By the way her face falls, Caroline knows she's giving away that she knows exactly whom the witch is talking about. She really can't say if the girl's choice of Mikaelson is better or worse than the one she is tied up with.

Kol. The insane younger sibling that Elena and Jeremy managed to take out in self-defence, which resulted in a whole downward spiral of events. One of them being her near-death on the Gilbert sofa that ended with her teeth in Klaus' vein and his hand threading through her hair. Oh right, and Tyler being banished from town.

So either the witch is in love with a ghost or the Originals have managed to resurrect their brother, who, from what she heard, can be even more unpredictable than Klaus. If that's in any way possible. She does remember him from the Grill that one time, a handsome kid holding a scotch. He had troublemaker written all over him back then.

She hadn't pegged this girl as the one who would go for the bad boy but then again, she also never pictured herself doing the same. She can't judge her for that because she can't deny that there is an attraction to those vampires. One she never planned to give in to herself. But how does her Klaus-situation help Davina to solve whatever drama she has going on?

"Okay," she finally replies, slowly putting the pieces together, "So you want me to, I don't know, put in a good word for you two or something?"

That closes up the witch's expression instantly, a shadow clouding her face. "That's not going to help. He was killed a few weeks ago."

Again? What a surprise. She's not all that sorry after what she knows he did to her friends, but seeing Davina's reaction at the memory, she forces herself to put her prejudices aside.

The witch probably thinks exactly the same thing about everything Klaus has done so, once again, she's not one to talk here. If she shows support for whatever plan the girl needs her assistance with, it might be her ticket out of here.

"But there's a way to bring him back, right? I mean, he got himself killed before and somehow, someone must have brought him back to life if you met here."

The dark-haired teen scoffs at that, kicking at a loose stone on the ground. "There was. When I was made Reagent, I had one chance to resurrect him with a spell and it failed because his family had their own plan. They made me waste that ancestral magic to bring someone else back. Rebekah is out there now looking for another way but that's not enough. I promised I would do everything in my power to help him and I have _nothing_."

Tentatively, Caroline points out, "Look, I don't know that much about witch things but I think that bringing back people from the dead is pretty dangerous stuff…"

"I know. I can't do it unless I have a spell that uses a different kind of magic and it's useless to even try without knowing the right ingredients. But you said your friend is a witch."

She wants to smack herself on the forehead. Her and her big mouth, pulling Bonnie into this. Sure, her best friend has dabbled in all kinds of crazy magic – she shudders at the phase where she practiced Expression – but after the collapse of the supernatural purgatory, which was a total exception when it comes to bringing people back from the dead, there was never any mention of resurrection.

When Bonnie returned Jeremy to the land of the living, she died for him and when it came to rescuing people from the Other Side, she ended up in a prison world for months. So she highly doubts that her friend is eager to try any of that again. She doesn't think it's possible and if it was, she couldn't ask Bonnie to put herself at risk like that.

"I never said she was good at it," she quickly corrects, "Or that she has any idea about doing things like, well, that kind of dark magic. And why don't you just ask Klaus' long-lost witch sister? Doesn't she know just about every spell that was ever made?"

"You also never said that she wasn't. And like I said, I'm not doing anything for that family anymore. It doesn't matter if she's not a vampire, if any of the witches notice that I'm cooperating with the Mikaelsons, they'll see it as a betrayal of the pledge I made to them. If Freya does me a favour, I'll have a debt to pay. It's not an option."

She takes a beat to think it all over, weighing the odds. She notices that the girl hasn't offered her anything in exchange until now. "Even if I could help you out, what's in it for me?"

"I will convince everyone that knows about you that you're free to go as soon as Klaus meets my demands," the witch offers, "Nobody is going to stop you from leaving New Orleans or will try to hurt you while you're here. I'll get Marcel to make that clear to his vampires too. I guess you can think of it as: apology accepted."

Oh. She was hoping more for a lifting of the barrier/getting out of here now scenario. The more she considers that idea though, the clearer it becomes that it was never the witch's intention to give her that.

Not when she can't trust her not to run away and take away any influence over the hybrid. She is the leverage for Klaus, just as this Josh guy is for Davina.

Still, it's not a terrible offer if she can convince Bonnie to just give her some kind of tip for the girl. If she's got a whole spell in store, great. She might be able to negotiate more than just protection.

At the very least, it would mean that there's no more chance of a run-in with people that want to take her head off while she's here. No more surprise assaults from Marcel and she can probably be sure that Vincent or any other witches in New Orleans won't dare try to hex her either. She wonders just how Davina plans on pulling that off.

"You're sure you can guarantee me that?"

The witch looks right back at her, never faltering. "Yes."

She holds her gaze for a little longer just to be sure the girl isn't just proposing this as a ruse, then addresses the other part. "So what's going to happen – did Klaus call for a trade?"

A nod from the witch. "That's the plan. After we sent your guide back to the Quarter, I got a call. I told him my terms and gave him a few hours to think it over. I also said if he doesn't come up with the right answer, you'd be killed."

"You said what?" Caroline all but yells, surging forward so fast she almost hits the magical boundary.

What is this witch playing at by casually throwing mortal threats into conversation like that? As though it's no issue to only mention this to her only _now._ All this time, her life may have been at stake if she didn't cooperate with the girl's proposal.

Davina waves her off. "Don't worry, it's just to get this all over with faster. The longer he has Josh, the less sure I can be that he won't hurt him and I don't want my best friend back missing body parts. I knew he wouldn't agree to do this unless I pretended that you're actually in danger."

It occurs to her that such a statement might make the hybrid angrier than he needs to be but she pushes that thought aside. It won't be her issue to deal with.

"How reassuring," she huffs, crossing her arms, "I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Just trust that I'm not going to hurt you, okay? Why would I try to make a deal if I wanted to torture you? Anyway, Klaus still has time," the witch points out, glancing at her phone, "So, what's your answer?"

Just like that, she's back on the spot. She sizes up the situation for a while but really doesn't see how this can turn out badly. If Bonnie doesn't have anything to give her, she'll be in the same situation as before. No harm done.

If her friend does know something useful, she would have Davina looking out for her and judging by the power that she felt in the girl, she's does seem like a good choice of ally. Even if she did reject her offer of coffee earlier.

If Klaus decides to decline the witch's terms, she has better chances of getting out by coming to an agreement with her. Sighing, she nods her consent.

"Fine. But I'll need my phone."

Her bag is slid over to her, easily passing through the invisible barrier and she retrieves the device, noting a new text. Curiosity peaks instantly but she doesn't take the time to look at it, knowing that the girl's eyes are still trained on her.

Probably to make sure she doesn't try to call anyone that could break her out of here. Not that she could even describe where she is. She speed dials Bonnie and is positively surprised to find that she has a signal down here.

Four rings, then a click in the line. "Caroline?"

She could kiss the girl right now for never failing to pick up in times of need. "Hey! Sorry, I know this is totally out of the blue and asking a lot but I'm in a bit of a situation and really need you do me a favour."

The answering groan on the other end lets her know she's got her friend's attention. It takes ten minutes of rushed explanations, sidestepping probing questions that she can't answer in Davina's presence and intensive convincing before she's got Bonnie searching for a particular grimoire.

All the while, she receives a lecture about getting herself into trouble with nobody there to help out.

In the end, the Bennet witch reluctantly gives her what she's asking for with the ultimatum that she wants an explanation the moment Caroline can provide one. She also includes more than three warnings to be careful.

"This is no joke, Care. It's not a spell that just anyone can do. It takes a lot of power and you don't even know if the person will be happy about being brought back from wherever those souls go now. This is blood magic, you really don't want to go there. Seriously, who are you asking this for?"

"Noted. I owe you big time," she thanks her friend, eyes fixed on the other witch outside her prison, "And I'll explain everything later, promise. I'll call you soon."

The pretty witch raises her eyebrows in expectation as she hangs up. "You have it?"

It's a bit disturbing how simple the process is but as she relays it to Davina, who scribbles it down, it seems to make sense. The ritual requires the blood of two family members mixed with the ashes of the deceased, drawing on the connection to the living.

Then a witch has to tap into a dark source of magic, a cursed artefact or something. And – because of course there's always a catch - a living sacrifice is needed to exchange one life for another, adding unrelated blood to the mix.

Once she's repeated the procedure to the young witch though, she wonders if this was right thing to do, sharing that knowledge. To bring back another Mikaelson into the world is bound to cause endless new problems.

What if Kol plans to come back to Mystic Falls to take revenge? Or if he's gotten completely messed up by his time in some supernatural hell?

Then there are also the risks that Bonnie talked about and they don't just affect the witch doing the spell. A live sacrifice? Hello, alarm bells?

Davina doesn't seem concerned though, repeating the simple incantation that is necessary to perform the resurrection. As she studies the instructions, written down on a sticky note from Caroline's bag, the vampire can see her determination. It makes her ask the question with all the more emphasis.

"Aren't you scared that it could go wrong?"

Brown eyes catch hers. "I'd be stupid not to be worried. It's magic I haven't used before. But if I let that stop me, I'll never get him back."

It strikes her, how far the girl is willing to go for someone she is clearly in love with. She wonders just how that came about. From what she can remember, Kol was somebody to be feared like all his siblings, if not more because of his unpredictability.

She hadn't noticed any redeeming qualities about him during his rampage in her town. Still, he must have changed if this strong-willed girl allowed him past her defences.

"I hope he appreciates what you're doing for him."

Davina looks taken aback at that, the pretty mouth tightening. She holds the vampire's gaze, reading all the doubts in her face.

"If you have to know, he's the first one that believed in my abilities and saw me … as me, not as the girl with a messed up past that was shunned by her coven. He was good to me and he didn't deserve to die for trying to become someone better. So I'm going to do what it takes to keep my promise to him."

She can't really argue with that. There's so much passion in the girl's tone that is makes her wonder if she would ever do the same for Klaus. He's been out of her life for so long now and still, the feelings for him have always simmered under surface.

She can't deny that she does care about him more deeply than she ever thought was possible when he came into their lives. She helped him out more often than not, always with ulterior motives. But would their connection be strong enough to drive her into action too if she was faced with such a choice?

She clears her throat. "Well, then I guess I can only say good luck."

The girl smiles a little at that, the first friendly gesture directed at her today. Then she rises and pockets the paper.

"You kept your end of the deal, I should go make sure I keep mine. If everything works out, you'll be out of here by tonight. Someone will come and get you later, when Klaus is ready to make the exchange."

It does make her feel better to hear that, even if she can't trust that statement yet. It's still all up to the hybrid, who could change his mind at any instant. After just proving her willingness to cooperate, she also thinks it's totally unnecessary to keep her down here.

"Good, because you couldn't have picked a more uncomfortable place to keep a hostage. Any chance of an upgrade?"

"Sorry," Davina offers, her expression almost apologetic, "But it is the most secure place. This is sacred ground so my people's magic is strongest here. It's just in case."

She doesn't need to elaborate on what case she means. As Reagent, she's going up against an Original with the tendency to make violent displays of people that cross him. If she were in the witch's position, she would want the greatest possible advantage too.

So she also concedes without putting up a fight when Davina asks her to hand her phone back over, finding to no need to argue about it. What's the alternative anyway? The girl can no doubt use telekinesis or whatever to steal the device back from her if she wants to. Strange as it is, she does trust her to honour their deal.

Watching the witch extinguish the smouldering bowl, she remarks one more thing. "What are you going to do if he doesn't agree to your demands?"

Davina pauses in her motions, turning back to face her. She seems to ponder it for a moment before straightening her shoulders in hard resolve.

"I guess I'll just have to use force."

She doesn't want to ask what exactly that entails. Or at whose cost that is going to happen. She settles for silence as the girl gathers her things and heads out of the crypt again. There's the ringing sound of her heels on stone, the creak of an iron door and then quiet once more.

When she knows the witch is gone, Caroline slides back onto the ground. The conversation has left her feeling more on edge than before. Knowing what's happening out there is almost more frustrating than being left in the dark.

Maybe she just messed up her chances of getting out of here by blindly trusting the girl again but at least she has proof that her apology is having the effect she hoped it would. She could see that the witch thought her to be honest enough to trust with this - apparently super secret - resurrection plan.

She leans her head against the rock, letting out a breath and telling herself that it could all have gone much worse. Sure, she had different expectations when she left this morning to make things right but what harm can a little trading of dangerous spells really do?

Probably a lot more than she could come up with before but that's not her concern right now.

Present dilemmas still include a stubborn Original hybrid and his interference in her plan. She can't wait to give him a piece of her mind as soon as she is released. If he shows up according to plan.

Davina seems confident that he'll agree to everything but she's not so sure. Maybe it's that knot inside her chest again, which she feels tightening in foreboding. Maybe it's because she knows that he doesn't take lightly to being pressured by anyone he considers a lesser opponent.

Or maybe it's because somewhere not too far away, Klaus is generously decorating a canvas with the deep red of a young vampire's blood.


	15. I'm a different kind of monster

**15\. I'm a different kind of monster**

After what feels like hours, the next person that distracts her from the solitude is Vincent. The candles have actually molten down quite far so she figures it's somewhere around late afternoon. She gets up, watching the man warily as he heads towards her. If he's come here, that means something either went very wrong or one party finally caved in.

She straightens and tries to look nonchalant. "What's going on?"

He shrugs but she doesn't miss the minor detail that his heartbeat is elevated. He's just as nervous about this as she is.

"It's pick-up time for you."

So Davina actually got Klaus to accept her deal. Whatever motivation is behind that move, she's glad his agreement is getting her out of here. She's so done counting the bricks in this cellar.

Even though she's not reassured by how uncharacteristically smooth things seems to be running where Klaus is concerned, staying in this dingy room is starting to wear on her. It's starting to let her ghosts return and as she sizes up Vincent now, she realizes she's hungry – and not for the likes of pizza.

So she keeps her distance not just for her sake as the witch lifts his hands, placing them where the barrier should be. It takes barely ten seconds of incomprehensible murmurings and a feeling of warm air washing over her, then he steps back and gestures.

"Let's go."

Caroline doesn't take her eyes off him as she steps forward, experimentally shifting a foot over the chalk circle. No resistance.

But despite Davina's promise, he still doesn't seem convinced of her intentions and wraps a hand around her elbow once she's picked up her things. Nothing happens at the touch but she is sure he's ready to give her a splitting headache if she tries to run. She doesn't bother.

Although the sun is already dipping towards the horizon again, she has to blink rapidly against the brightness as they ascend stairs and walk outside. She sucks fresh air into her lungs, only now realizing how dusty it was down there.

An iron cast gate clangs shut behind her but she's too busy taking everything in, the rows and rows of tombs spread out in front of her. Her guess was just about right – she was kept underneath a freaking cemetery.

Vincent steers her around a corner and down a line of brick tombs that open up onto a wide path. She spots Davina, speaking to three people in the shadow of a particularly large mausoleum that's all white marble.

The sunlight tints the witch in a red-gold glow and for a moment, she can almost envision the powerful Reagent standing there. But as they approach, the girl turns and all she sees is the teenager that came to ask for her help. She hopes the young witch is prepared for this.

Davina nods to the both of them, then motions for the other people, all women of various ages, to take their places behind her. Well, there's nothing like confidence in numbers.

"Everything okay?" the witch asks and although it's directed at Vincent, those doe eyes flit over to her for a second as well.

Caroline takes a wild guess that the others here don't know the details of their rendezvous earlier and that it's supposed to stay that way. Judging by the girl's distance now, she figures it's best she keeps quiet.

"So far. Let's see if he shows," the man replies. She feels his fingers flexing against her jacket sleeve, obviously itching to get this over with.

"He will," Davina assures him. Then she moves aside, facing the path in front of them again to watch the sun slowly dropping behind the burial grounds.

It doesn't take long after that.

She hears their approach before everyone else, a series of rapid footfalls that indicate something moving at vampire speed. Two people for sure, but something's off, like one of them is not walking quite right.

A moment later, Klaus strides out from behind a brick tomb, dragging another person behind him and altogether looking a lot like some dark angel of vengeance. Or, to be more exact, a glowering hybrid.

The sight of him has her torn between relief and being just as angry at him as he seems to be at this situation. He catches her gaze only briefly as he advances before fixing it on the pretty witch on her left.

The man he's hauling along sways dangerously as Klaus comes to a stop and lets go of his collar. He really looks worse for wear, especially the open wound along the side of his neck.

From her peripheral vision, she sees that Davina tenses up at the sight and can imagine how the witch's heart goes out to her friend in that moment. They are only a handful of paces apart but it seems like a massive distance with all the silent threats that crowd the space.

Even if she had considered making a run for it before, she certainly wouldn't now. Looking at how the other hostage has been handled, she knows she needs to see this exchange through.

"Klaus," the witch states with all possible composure, "I said I want him back in onepiece."

"And so he is," the hybrid counters, clapping the taller vampire on the shoulder and almost making the guy topple over at the force, "Only missing a little blood."

"Why is he not healing then?" Davina insists, her voice betraying that she would like nothing more than to blast the hybrid to the other end of the planet right now.

"Ah, yes, that might have something to do with the vervain he's been ingesting all day. You see, there's nothing more irritating than trying to paint with your pallet drying up every few seconds. But Josh turned out most cooperative once we took care of that."

Vincent lets out a long breath beside her and in Davina's answering silence she gathers that the not-so-positive feelings are steadily building here. She wants to tell Klaus to shut up before anyone loses their cool but incidentally, that seems to be exactly what he is aiming for. He's riling everyone up on purpose so that they will engage in a fight. He wants this.

It's the witch holding onto her that cuts through the tension before it can escalate.

"Let's get on with it. If you agree to the terms that the Reagent has laid down, we can all be on our way."

Dangerous eyes slide over to him, narrowing. "Right, sovereignty for the witches, freedom to practice around the Quarter and all that. How very noble a gesture for your people. I might even grant you those demands once your leader learns her place in this city - which would be out of my affairs. And those just so happen to include the vampire in your custody."

"She wouldn't have to be here if you hadn't taken him captive," Vincent shoots right back, holding his ground.

"On the contrary, it looks like it was a necessary precaution," Klaus snaps, "After all, your new Reagent threatened to kill her if I did not meet her demands. I would call that direct interference in my business."

"Ain't that a way to twist…"

"Enough," Davina raises her voice, throwing her protector a sharp look before turning back to the hybrid, "We've all made our position clear here. You've had time to consider my proposal, so what's your answer?"

He looks over at Caroline then and in their collision of gazes, she wonders just what he sees that makes him relax his shoulders, step back and smooth over his expression. A few moments tick by in which he seems to contemplate how to best pull this off and still get the outcome he wants.

She sees him glance once more at Vincent's hand on her arm, calculating. Then he shocks everyone by pushing Josh forward a step, towards the open space between the two parties.

The vampire seems dazed, unsure of how to react. Davina also looks taken aback for a moment, then stretches a hand out towards him before Klaus can change his mind on another whim.

Throwing a cautious look over his shoulder, the young man manages to advance towards the group and all but staggers into the witch's embrace. They exchange a few words before she helps him gingerly lower himself onto the steps of the tomb.

Caroline smells the heavy scent of his blood from several metres away and can't help but pity the other vampire, knowing firsthand what such blood loss feels like. The bone-deep sensation of weakness that is reminiscent of the days when her body was human.

Klaus definitely wasn't nice about the guy's treatment but there's nothing they can do about that now. What he needs is to feed, sleep the poison off and probably deal with a whole lot of psychological torture.

It makes her angry to know that this happened, indirectly, because of her.

Then there's only Klaus left in front of them, hands clasped behind his back. He's patiently waiting for the reaction; almost provocative with the expectant smile he wears now. It's obvious that the cooperation he's showing is highly suspicious but in letting Josh go, he accepted the witch's demands.

A deal's a deal.

Davina looks over at her, gives her right-hand witch a signal and suddenly there's no grip holding her back anymore. She's free and apparently the appropriate reaction is to move over to the side that's supposed to be hers. One last glance at Davina and she forces her body to move.

It's beyond weird to be part of such a trade off and as she closes the distance across the span of sunlit ground, she can tell it's not over yet. There's something in the hybrid's eyes that unsettles her, even as he reaches over to touch her shoulder.

His question is barely above a murmur but full of concern. "Did they do anything to you, love?"

She shakes her head. "I'm fine."

"Good," his hand drops away as he turns back to the group who are watching the scene, his tone changing instantly, "You may have landed yourself a treaty today but let me be clear about one thing. You will _not_ threaten me like this again, little witch. If you do, you might find my tolerance towards your friends, and your own life, worn quite thin."

The girl raises her head, holding the hybrid's gaze. Caroline knows that look because it's one she wears herself all too often, the one with a little bit of sass that says: challenge accepted.

"We're not even close to even, Klaus. Maybe you should be the one to think about staying out of my business."

That one was a mistake. In that second, that retort, the polite pretences are dropped.

It's subtle, like an imperceptibly small shift in temperature but she picks up on it. She can feel the hybrid's inhibitions fall away even before he makes a move, already wants to open her mouth to shout out a warning despite not knowing what he's about to do.

But it doesn't take a genius to guess his intentions. He disappears from her side before she gets a single syllable out, using his supernatural speed to overwhelm the others.

He's physically faster than her so she's just able to process that he's ripped the first witch's throat out and torn off the second's head by the time he's buried his teeth in the third.

All she knows is that her legs are driving her forward by instinct, going for the one link in the chain that she knows doesn't deserve losing a heart for simply standing up to him. Not today and definitely not for her sake.

Even as she leaps forward, from the corner of her eye she can glimpse Vincent being thrown against the nearest wall and hitting the ground below with solid impact. He doesn't move to get up but she doesn't have time to check if he's alive.

Davina is only just spinning around towards the bloodbath unfolding in her blind spot when Caroline jumps in to stand in front of her. She meets Klaus head-on as he continues his bloody rampage towards the girl.

He comes to a sharp stop in front of them, retracting the hand that was already going for a certain throat. Red spatters over his shirt, smeared along his mouth and she wonders why she's not scared to be crossing his path like this.

There's only adrenalin that has her lifting her arms, shielding the witch. In her delayed reaction, Davina cries out with shock behind her, obviously too stunned by the sudden array of dead bodies to say anything, let alone cast a spell in retaliation.

"Don't," she warns the hybrid and is satisfied that her voice stays firm even as her body thrums in response to the display. The predator in her wants to mirror his bloodlust, the human knows she has to salvage what can still be saved.

Just to be sure, she reaches behind her and grasps the girl's wrist, communicating that she shouldn't try to react with magic. No need to enrage Klaus even more at this proximity.

"Give me one good reason," he hisses.

She's not creative enough to have a decent answer ready in a situation like this. Surely there are a million better comebacks but all she can think of, truthfully, is, "I'm asking you not to."

Even Davina stops breathing behind her in that moment, waiting in utter stillness for the verdict. Caroline refuses to twitch a muscle, staring the man down that could tear her apart just as easily as the rest of these unfortunate souls.

But she gambles that he wouldn't, that him going to all these lengths to retrieve her means he respects this demand.

Klaus responds by slowly wiping the fresh stains off his lips, looking aside to escape her scrutiny. It takes him a while to regain control over the killing urge and she doesn't dare step away until she is sure he won't make another move.

He sweeps his eyes across the battlefield of his creation – or more accurately, the slaughter site – before shifting closer.

His words are not addressed to her but at the target of his anger. Still, she feels the cold bite of his words settle on her skin too. There's only her body between them and if looks could kill, Davina would have been long dead already.

"Remember today, little witch, and mark my words. The next time this happens, you will lose far more."

And with that, he marches right past them, leaving the bloodbath in his wake.

There's a shaky inhale over her shoulder and she twists around to see the teen looking at the scene in front of her, wide-eyed and speechless. Three dismembered or mutilated witches are splayed across the marble, a knocked out Vincent at the foot of the tomb and an equally collapsed but still breathing Josh on the steps. He looks just as stunned as Davina, the difference being that he's barely hanging onto consciousness.

What she's seeing in front of her is an absolute disaster. Out of all the possible ways this could have gone, she didn't think it would come to this.

"I'm sorry."

She knows it's unfair, leaving the younger girl to clean up the aftermath of it all alone but she can't stay. The sight of spilled blood has only fuelled her hunger and she doesn't trust herself to stay focused with that desire clouding her judgment. She also has another person to deal with.

So before she can change her mind, she lets go of the witch and follows the one who started this mess in the first place.

 **/**

He is standing at the entrance of the cemetery when she catches up and still looks far from pleased. Well, that goes both ways right now. Her initial plan was to confront him straight to his face but approaching him now, she realizes she's too full of frustrated energy to stop moving. If she does, the result won't be pretty. So she doesn't even slow, walking right by without looking to see if he'll follow.

But ignoring him doesn't mean her voice is any less harsh.

"What is _wrong_ with you? Why would you think that was necessary? All of those people weren't even involved in kidnapping me. You just killed a bunch of innocent bystanders!"

"Their misfortune was choosing that girl as a leader. They accepted their fate when they decided to follow her," he counters with equal force, falling into step behind her.

"No, you killed them just to prove a point. You couldn't deal with her standing up to you like that so you just _had_ to demonstrate who has the real power," she snaps, "Nobody needed to get hurt for this trade to happen. Not that vampire, not Davina, none of them. Everything was already over."

"You know it never is, love."

Of course she does. She knows he can't seem to help himself doing this every time there is a situation that could be solved peacefully. She wishes that only this once, he had held back. Honestly, how hard is it to let something go?

Even though she gets that it's his everlasting struggle to come out on top and prove himself invulnerable, it doesn't stop her from being furious.

If she's important enough to rescue, why can't she be important enough for him to have a little faith in her?

"Remember when I said I could do this on my own? You could have left it at that. You could have trusted me. I had everything under control until the news got around that you kidnapped that guy."

"And how was I to be certain your apologies would have the reaction you wanted? I trusted my instincts on enemies whom I've dealt with far longer than you've known of their existence. I was simply taking precautions," he points out irritably over the ring of her heels against the tarmac, "In fact, I think some gratitude would be appropriate."

"Stop," she whirls around mid-step to face him, "Stop trying to control what I do just because you can't do it to every other person in your life. Don't you get it? This is the same reason I didn't want you in my life back then. Whenever you get involved, there's murder or terrible accidents because you don't care who gets hurt in the process. All I want is to make my own mistakes and I don't need you to show up every time with a plan B that only makes everything worse."

That stops him in his tracks and not only because she suddenly poses an obstacle in his way. She's rattled something with that truth. His eyes have narrowed again, his response is sharp-edged and aimed to hurt, "What will those mistakes be worth if you end up dead?"

She scoffs. "Not everything has to be a life-and-death situation all the time."

"That is simply a delusion. You're a vampire. In the world we live, it will always be about that."

She denies that vehemently, "It doesn't have to be. You just can't see that."

He advances, the intensity of his gaze filling her vision as he leans in.

"Really? Because from where I am standing, death is what brought you here and death made you stay. So, you tell me if death will be what makes you move on?"

She has nothing to reply to that and shuts her mouth, settling on giving him her best indignant glare. How does everything he says sound so disturbingly true when it's about her?

Sure, it is possible to see it that way – her mother's death ultimately triggering her arrival here, the bartender's death resulting in the decision to remain a little longer. But there's so much more behind that. And is this fiasco enough to make her take that step she's been contemplating all along?

"I'm starting to think yes," she retorts, already turning away.

An unyielding hand around her arm hinders her. As her glare settles on him again, he backtracks, replying in a tone that drops a notch in forcefulness, "You can be angry at my methods, but don't disregard my intentions, Caroline. All I wanted was to ensure that you return safely. You've been through enough and it simply wasn't worth risking your life over the incident, tragic as it might be."

Considerate of him but not enough to make her give up her anger. What he's saying is not an apology, it's only an excuse for his behaviour and she knows this can't only be about her.

It's just as much about him protecting his reputation, as usual. Because God forbid that the world doesn't cower at the sound of his name.

"That doesn't bring those people back to life. Or take this off my conscience."

"And what is it that you want from me? An apology? This is _my_ city and I will run it however I see fit. If my manner of keeping my family safe from enemies surprises you, I do wonder what you thought I was doing in New Orleans all this time."

That's a low blow, acting like she's not smart enough to understand what's been going on here. She can feel her eyebrows rising with incredulity.

"You know what, maybe you're right, maybe I was naïve to think you might have changed after you left. But if you seriously think that murdering people means your baby is safe, you're the delusional one. Davina probably hates you more now than she did before. The way you treat people, you drive them to turn against you."

That has him tensing momentarily before putting on a blank expression, dispassionate in his reply. "That's no concern as long as they are afraid enough to know that coming after me would mean their demise."

His stubbornness is unbelievable. She shuts her eyes for a second, utterly frustrated. How can someone be so hell-bent on not seeing reality for what it is?

She's never met anyone with such determination to make people afraid in order to protect himself from any pain. Except maybe Damon, in a milder, more verbally irritating form.

But it's not just that. Klaus is straight up refusing to understand that it does not have to be that way.

She isn't going to do this with him. It's impossible to help someone who won't admit there's anything wrong in the first place. This is exactly the kind of scenario that therapists are for and seriously, he should be seeing at least three of them.

"You're wrong," she replies, catching his gaze again, "And if you don't get that after a thousand years, this is just a waste of time. So if you don't mind, I'm going to find myself some bloodbags now and try to process this."

With that, she jerks her arm away and takes off at vampire speed. He doesn't try to hold her back a second time and she only comes to a stop when she finds herself back in the city centre beside a main road.

The area is bustling with evening activity. Perfect for her to blend in and pretend she's also going about her day-to-day without having just witnessed spontaneous murder.

She rubs her hands over her face, breathing deeply. She was so close to jumping at him back there and digging her teeth into his throat, not out of desperate need this time but out of rage.

She's never been the most patient person but with Klaus, it drives her borderline insane when she can't get through to him at all.

Either way, she doesn't want to think about all this chaos and what she managed to ruin instead of repair. Not before she's had something substantial.

As soon as she's gotten her pulse to return to a somewhat normal pace, she approaches the nearest person to ask for directions to a hospital. The rest takes ten minutes of navigating through the touristic crowds and five minutes of compelling until she can lean against the wall of a back alley, two bags in hand.

They are drained far too quickly but she savours each drop and is relieved when everything becomes clearer again, her senses growing more astute. Her favourite side effect is that she can also feel the agitation melting away.

Dusk is falling over the Quarter as she flops down on a bench in the very market square she saw in one of Klaus' paintings. She can't go back to the compound yet, not before she figures out what she wants to do.

Leave, like she had wanted to before deciding to see Davina? Or give herself more time until she's sure that she can face home again? After what just happened, she doesn't know if she can stay on his good side much longer.

Anyway, at this point Klaus is probably annoyed at himself for coming to save her. She'll bet that he thought she would be thankful for his intervention, the whole knight in shining armour scenario. She's not sorry to disappoint him on that one.

The bag on her lap vibrates, breaking through her contemplation and she pulls out her phone. Swiping her finger over the screen, two messages light up. The most recent one being from her best friend to ask once more what is going on and reminding her to call back.

The other one that she noticed earlier is from … Matt?

11:39. _Hey Care. You okay? I know Bonnie said you're back to normal and taking time off somewhere but we really need you here. I'll always be there for you if you want to talk but right now I also need someone sane around. Please think about it. Take care of yourself._

She didn't expect to hear from him at all and is unusually touched by the words. Never mind that it's super out of the ordinary for him to send a text that is longer than a sentence. Things must really be going downhill in Mystic Falls if Matt can't handle it.

He's been such a trooper through all the things that have happened to them in the past few years, not to mention the torture she recently put him through back at Whitmore. She definitely owes it to him to offer support after nearly killing him the last time they saw each other.

Really, she owes it to all of them to come back and make up for the last two weeks.

Caroline clenches the phone in her hand. She's never felt so indecisive. She knows she's not okay yet but apparently there's never a good moment in her life to take a timeout. To be honest, there hasn't really been one since the supernatural entered her world.

Still, maybe keeping busy is the better way to deal with everything after all. She hasn't been as haunted by her demons today because there were more pressing things on her mind and she takes that as good sign.

One day. She decides to give herself one more day to hopefully come down from what's happened and make a game plan. She'll have to find out where her car is and how to get it back. Or check if she has the money to book a flight.

It seems like she's been overstaying her welcome with the Original siblings anyway so they'll probably be glad to see her go. Klaus is a whole different story. In the span of seventy-two hours, he's managed to ignite a rollercoaster of emotions in her again that she thought she was done with.

She has no clue if it's possible to tell him about leaving without triggering another defensive reaction.

She also doesn't want to think of it as conveniently running away from her feelings. It's obvious that they are not in the right place or right time to dive into this indefinable relationship again.

Sure, she won't deny that she's curious to know what it would be like to stay but looking at her last two days here, this city isn't for her right now. At least not if she plans to lead a somewhat normal life a little longer.

Her phone vibrates again as she receives another message from Bonnie, featuring more exclamation marks than the last one. She considers her choice, staring at the little blinking envelope on the screen.

She has to go back and face her old life again sooner or later. Later would have been her preferred option but obviously the situation back home is getting out of hand. If she were asking for help, she's sure her friends would drop everything for her too.

With that in mind, she dials the witch's number and can't help but smile a little as her friend's exasperated voice answers. Klaus is wrong about her in that respect. It's not death that will make her leave; it's the lives she cares about.

 **/**

When she returns to the compound after dark, she instantly stumbles into Freya, who is on her way out. The Mikaelson sister only regards her for a moment as they walk past each other, eyebrows rising as though she is genuinely surprised to see her coming back alive.

There's a man beside her who is trying to garner her attention so the vampire is saved from having to attempt small talk or justify her reappearance.

She breezes past the two, glancing back to find the witch's date trying to slip an arm around her waist. Freya doesn't reject the human's advance and she hears her laughing as they head into the street. Seems like the girl actually does have a friendly side, and a decent taste in guys too.

It shouldn't be so strange to see that they all have a life beyond dealing with enemies. Maybe it's because she convinced herself once that after so many lifetimes, they just wouldn't have real feelings anymore.

More likely, it's because she's started applying Klaus' view of the world to the whole family.

The hybrid's room is empty when she goes to look for him. There's a faint scent of something familiar in the air though and once she realizes that it's the newest piece on the easel, done in dark red, she quickly steps out again.

She checks the empty parlour and dining room as well before the obvious location finally occurs to her. She retraces her path back up the stairs, searching for the child's room.

She opens the door tentatively, although the sounds of two beating hearts already give them away. He's standing in front of the window, holding the toddler against his chest.

Beautiful eyes peek over his shoulder, exactly the same shade of blue as her father's, blinking at her with unabashed curiosity as she enters. One small hand is fisted in Klaus' sleeve, the other adorably fixed in the girl's mouth by the thumb.

Father and daughter. That kind of relationship seemed so absurd when she heard about it but looking at them now, she is sure the role couldn't suit him more. In any case, the most overprotective father of the year award will definitely go to him.

She almost wants to leave again to not disturb this picture but in that instant, the hybrid moves around to face her. Of course, he's just as aware of her presence.

"She really looks a lot like you," she remarks, for lack of a better icebreaker.

"I'd have reason to worry if she didn't," he answers and changes his grip, lowering the girl to the ground with utmost gentleness.

They both watch for a bit as she starts crawling over the carpet to a playground of blankets and toys beside the crib. It's endearing to witness the child's eagerness as she grabs hold of a wooden horse and waves it around.

Caroline wants to breach the topic she actually came to talk about but finds herself saying, "Have you picked out a kindergarten yet? I mean, you have to plan these things early these days, the waiting lists are probably insane and since she doesn't have any other kids her age around the…"

He stops her before it turns into a full rant. "I hardly think you've come here to speak about parenting. You've already made it clear that you don't find my methods suitable."

"What? No, that's different," she gestures at the toddler who is happily chewing on a stuffed toy, "It's not about what you do when you're with her. It's what you do _for_ her."

He crosses his arms, shifting his gaze away from his daughter to pin it on her. "So I take it you want to continue where we left off earlier?"

That's definitely a road she doesn't want to walk down again.

"I've said everything already."

Klaus absorbs that for a moment, before realization makes his expression shift. "Then you've come to say your goodbyes?"

There's something in the way the question leaves his lips, something that makes her think she's made the wrong choice after all. It sounds like he already saw this coming after the events earlier and knows exactly who is to blame. Like he's accepted that his actions are driving her away again.

"I have to go back. My friends need me," she explains, "Things have gone insane since I left. Well, more insane than they were with me on my rampage after I flipped the switch. And I don't even know most of what's happened."

He nods his understanding but the sarcastic undertone tells a different story. "Generous, considering they haven't raised a finger to help you since you left Mystic Falls."

"Klaus," she warns, "You don't know what they've done for me."

He shakes his head in disagreement, countering, "I know they haven't come to find you and support you, to stand by you when you need it."

"Well maybe that's because I trusted you with that."

She's blurted out the truth before she remembers that she wasn't planning to share that piece of information with him. At least not in so many words. He falls quiet for a moment while she sucks in a breath in response to her own impulsiveness, knowing what she just gave away.

But it's the truth, one that only really sunk in today when she was waiting for him to come and break her out. She does trust him. Maybe not to do the right thing but always to do what's necessary.

Their eyes stay locked and eventually he comes closer, stopping at a distance she really wouldn't call a safe amount of space. She hopes that his approach is not designed to initiate something that a toddler shouldn't be witnessing.

"Then give me a chance to deserve that trust," he asks of her.

She squares her shoulders, determined to stand her ground. Even if the closeness and those damn eyes are making her question herself all over again. "I'm staying one more day. And all I'm asking is that you don't kill anyone else until I leave."

His answer is a familiar promise, if reluctant. "I won't, for you."

The way he says it definitely doesn't send a shiver down her spine. Or make her think of another time he told her that and completely messed up her world. She's almost ready to back away and leave him with the baby again, when something else comes to mind.

Because with all the expert stalking he's been doing in recent years, there's no way he doesn't have someone on speed dial that could help her trace a number plate.


	16. What scares you, I want to tear apart

**16\. What scares you, I want to tear apart**

When she falls into bed that night, it's with the belief that she's too worn out from the day's events to fabricate a dream, let alone a nightmare. As it turns out, she's wrong.

It starts slowly, like cold air creeping up the back of her neck. But then the figures emerge from the darkness of her unconsciousness, all the murders replaying in her head once again. They only grow clearer the more she tries to shut them out.

She's so busy trying to keep control of her subconscious – which is way out of the controllable realm - that she fails to notice the bartender isn't among them anymore.

It's episodic torture, like a terrible home video replaying over and over. At the end of each one, there is always her mother. Sometimes still alive, sometimes stone cold and sunken in a coffin, a hospital bed, collapsed on the floor of their house. The worst one is when she's not there at all and only a weathered headstone remains, the words unreadable with age.

Each time she tries to reach her and pull her out of death's grip somehow, but she never makes it close enough. Her own mind is playing cruel tricks on her, throwing in everything she suppressed during the day. The ever-changing world of the nightmare takes her mom away, only to reveal her in the distance for Caroline to chase all over again.

She has no idea how long these muddled visions haunt her before she finally startles awake. Her physical awareness tells her that her pyjama is damp, sticking to her skin but she's still freezing.

Even more stifling than the grief is the shock of how real the Whitmore student's hands felt just now when they were wrapped around her, dragging her down with him. Or the Tulane guy's cigarette that seared holes into her skin, setting her alight like paper.

Her breaths stutter in her lungs and she feels alternately hot and cold, her normal immunity to temperature completely off balance. She squeezes her eyes shut but finds that it makes no difference.

She hasn't gotten better at containing her memories since yesterday, however adamantly she's repeating that mantra, telling herself it's just a nightmare, just ghosts. They can't hurt her. But the ones in her head are already doing enough.

The room is too quiet for her to stay in here, the shadows on the walls too ominous when paranoia still clutches at her this tightly. Above all, the raw fire is back in her throat, the one that's become close to normal in the last two days. She tries to resist the sensations, hoping that they'll ease off the longer she's awake. Deep breath, hold, repeat.

She's got fingers wrapped around the edge of the bedside table that already took a beating yesterday. There's no undoing it anyway, she might as well use it to anchor herself. She stays in that position until it becomes clear that willpower is still not enough to stop her chest from constricting or her heart from pounding overtime.

Her active imagination just isn't helping things. Back in consciousness, her mind is simply too busy filling in the gaps that her dreams provided, even as she tries to pay attention to different things.

Something as banal as counting sheep isn't doing the trick and it dawns on her soon enough that she should be learning from last night's experience. There's a solution and she needs to admit to herself that she has to ask for it once more.

So this time she leaves her room before the mental chaos can manifest in any more physical symptoms. She tries to concentrate on each movement; every step she takes - fifty-six in total - before she stands in front of his room again.

It makes no difference how many times she twists around to reaffirm that she's alone, it feels like they're all still right behind her and breathing down her back, ready to attack again. All but Camille. She's seen their faces for days now, it should be getting old but somehow that doesn't make the feeling any less suffocating.

The moon is slowly growing fuller over the city, swathing her in pale light as she leans against the wall and tries to convince herself she doesn't need to do this. She can manage alone; she just needs to try harder. But her eyes have already grown darker and despite all reasoning that she doesn't want the blood, it's matter over mind.

In the end, that mixture of hunger, guilt and fear has her reaching for the door handle. She doesn't try to be quiet, even though she's got a little more control over her body than yesterday. Somehow, she's still rational enough to take his advice, making her presence known by letting the door fall shut.

Her eyes roam the room, brushing over the bed but finding him in the opposite corner, still awake.

The hybrid is hunched over his desk in the glow of a desk lamp. As she approaches, she sees that he's pouring over a book, gaze drifting over yellowed leather-bound pages. She doesn't manage to pay further attention to it though. Her instincts are already zeroing in on what she needs most.

Klaus looks up, registers the reason she's here. He doesn't seem surprised, like he knew she would make an appearance. There's expectation in his features that turns into recognition the longer he watches her. It takes one second to cross the space as he rises from his seat.

On the fringes of her awareness, she knows she's ignoring any politeness right now. But that's a peripheral thought as her gaze lands on the closest exposed vein.

She meets him in that unspoken invitation, hands twisting into his shirt to pull him close and forgoing any permission to invade his personal space. There's no resistance and all she registers is her own anticipation before fangs pierce flesh and she touches her lips to the heated skin.

It's even better than she remembers. Maybe because it's straight from the jugular vein, maybe because her last taste was a whole day ago or maybe because of the way his fingers find her bare arms while she's feeding, catching her in a warm grasp. Her anxiety gradually fades and her chest feels lighter by the time she can make herself pull away.

The instant banishment of her demons almost let's her forget whose body it is that she's leaning into, whose blood is keeping her afloat again. For a moment, she just wants to stay in this position and forget everything that's attached to their arrangement here. To revel in the knowledge that she has the ability to take this power from him by his own volition.

But her returning self-consciousness makes her retreat soon enough, forcing her fangs to slide back into her gums. Facing him, she notes that he appears dazed too – his eyes are hooded and he exhales slowly.

It can't be the shock of being caught unprepared this time. More like he's trying to compose himself. She recalls last night, when his teeth ripped into her neck in retaliation and feels herself taking a cautionary step back.

"Thank you," she murmurs and can't help glancing at the bite marks. They're already closing up but she should have at least tried to ask before jumping him like that. So much for being more restrained about it.

If he notices her embarrassment, Klaus doesn't give any indication. Still, his hand slips down to fasten around her wrist before she can step away from the situation, touching the exact spot where a certain werewolf in her dream crushed all the bones. She looks up to meet his gaze, ignoring that memory with newfound determination.

Despite the hint of a growl that betrays how his bloodlust has also risen, his tone is soothing. "What's wrong, love?"

Honestly, what can she say to that? Oh, you know, the usual rollercoaster of exaggerated memories? Her own personal flock of haunting spirits? Or how about guilt personified with her kills subjecting her to all kinds of pain? She opts for vagueness.

"Bad dreams."

He looks like he wants to press the subject but she turns her head away, evading his gaze. She doesn't want to concentrate on the details again when she's still riding that high from feeding.

Instead, she notes that she wrinkled his shirt with her grip and instantly tries to smooth it out again, muttering an apology. It's a perfect distraction to pretend that a crease in the cotton is a bigger issue than the reason her teeth were in his throat in the first place. Again.

He has to say her name a couple of times before she snaps back to attention.

"Caroline, if I'm going to continue sharing blood with you in such moments of need, some details would be helpful. However much of a pleasure it is to be the object of desire here, perhaps we can figure out a better way if I know what exactly is causing these episodes."

She lets go of the fabric, flustered but immediately back on the defence. She still hasn't quite forgiven him for earlier.

"Like you know so much about being haunted by the people you killed. When did you ever feel guilty about taking a human life?"

"You'd be surprised," he smiles, rather wistfully, "In the earliest days, I regretted my victims. Nothing can prepare you for the aftermath of your first kill. I am no stranger to seeing their faces in the dark."

It's a startling confession. How is she supposed to believe that he actually used to dwell on the pain and death he caused? Those things are exactly what he gets most satisfaction from today. But his words make her realize that her judgement of him is still true.

Deep down, she knows he wasn't born a monster, as nobody is. His experiences turned him into the man standing in front of her but he was someone else a millennium ago, maybe with the same fears.

"But you never turned it off," she states. It's not a question, even though she isn't sure. Call it a hunch.

His smile wanes at the question. "I am an Original. One of the first vampires, those most connected to the bloodthirst and predator instincts. We shed our human guises quicker than those who we have sired. Any regrets from my human days lost their meaning with immortality. And as it is, the ability to separate yourself from your emotions fades with age. In a century or two, you'll find there is no barrier you can put up."

She can understand the logic behind that. Whenever she looks at herself or Elena, she knows there's still something different about them compared to the Salvatores or older vampires they've come across.

She and her friend have remained human in many ways, more in touch with their past selves. Those like Klaus have done a good job discarding that side, at least for all appearances. She supposes more than a thousand years will do that to you.

"Only that it worked for me already," she reminds him, "And your sister said all I can do is wait this out so it looks like I'll just have to learn to deal with nightmares where my victims decide to get creative and torture me in ways that would probably even inspire you. How's that for more detail?"

That's got him lost for words for a moment, looking her over as though he missed some sign of physical abuse. None to find, of course. But his expression does soften again and he remarks, "It certainly explains your state when you barged through the door."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He releases her wrist, lips curving upwards, "You were really quite ravenous, love."

Caroline barely stops herself from blushing at that observation, imagining what she must have looked like. Dishevelled and red-eyed with uncontrollable hunger showing in every muscle. Basically like a crazy person standing on his doorstep.

Even though she's quite sure they have moved past appearances after going through this once already, it's still enough to ruffle her.

She crosses her arms. "Don't think I'm not trying to control myself. I want to keep my thoughts off it but when I'm alone back there and not busy with something else, it's the first thing that comes back."

"Quite naturally. The mind always attempts to protect itself from traumatic experiences, whichever way works best. As is seems in your case, if it's not kept occupied, you are overwhelmed by these cravings to suppress the pain," he pauses to consider the situation, leaning against the desk, "Assuming you don't want to relive the hostage experience to keep yourself distracted, I might have a better suggestion for the time being."

Suggestion. She finds her thoughts instantly veering off into a dangerous direction as to what he's talking about, especially considering their encounter before she left the compound.

"And what would that be?"

Klaus' smile returns at her question. She knows better than to let it affect her but it can't be helped, those damn dimples are already making her incline towards whatever he's going to propose.

He has just found his good mood again, which she didn't expect. Not after her third spontaneous assault for his blood and especially not after their argument earlier. Although it looks like he's filed that away already.

"Well, I did once say that I would show you the world. But seeing as it's quite a stretch to fit anywhere outside the country into one day, I'm afraid the state has to suffice for now. It would be a shame for you to have come this far to Louisiana and not see all it has to offer."

"You want to take me on a tour," she paraphrases, "You seriously think sightseeing is going to help things?"

He corrects her on that one. "I prefer to see it as a change of scenery. But do tell me if you think leaving the location of your most recent kill for the day is not a good idea."

She wonders how he always knows exactly how to turn a conversation around in his favour. He managed to get upper hand so quickly; she's stumped for a witty retort. But it's not like she has a better plan, except getting her trip back home sorted out.

There's not much room for argument against this proposal unless she pulls out some petty retort about how they're still supposed to be mad at each other. Which she is. But it's getting harder and harder to stay mad when he's wearing that expression and his blood is coursing through her, making her feel things that are wholly inconvenient.

Caroline can only reply with an eye-roll, which she knows he'll take as an agreement anyway. She moves past him and sinks down on his vacated chair, leaning into comfortably worn leather, "So what happened to the plan where you try to hide me away from your enemies in here?"

"I think that ship has sailed now that they're aware of your presence in the city, love," he turns to face her, "But perhaps you would be ready to consider this little excursion a show of trust."

"Trust in what exactly? You're still going to be supervising me."

He raises an eyebrow. "You mean, accompanying. Simply sending you off with a map and a standard tourist brochure would be abysmal hosting."

"I'll be fine," she assures him, "Before you crashed the party, I made a deal with Davina. She's cleared my name with all the people that were … affected by what I did. Nobody is going to try to hurt me out there unless I give them a reason to."

That's news to him. He's clearly unnerved that she knows something he doesn't because he immediately shifts in his position, shoulders drawing in as he braces his weight against the wood.

"What kind of a deal?"

"She needed something and I got it for her," she finds herself saying, knowing he'll surely just lecture her to no end if she reveals exactly what the conditions were, "I made that judgement call and it paid off. Trust, remember?"

He doesn't look pleased but doesn't dig further, seeing her pointed look.

"How convenient. And I suppose with the guarantee of safety, you also know exactly where to find the lesser known wonders of the city, say, the Gates of Guinee or the infamous Luling Mansion, all by yourself?"

She quickly racks her memory but finds she's never heard of those, not even in passing. It wasn't mentioned on any of the flyers lying around in her compelled host's apartment either – only the regular well-known tourist attractions, most of which are cemeteries. After yesterday, she's definitely not setting another foot in one of those while she's here.

"Sounds like a something Google maps could show me," she quips.

He follows her around the table then, leaning on the arms of her seat with just enough proximity to see her pupils dilating.

"Come on, sweetheart, you know I'm most likely to behave when I know you're not getting yourself into trouble and you'd have your source of relief nearby in case your mind decides to veer off course again. I think that's very much in both our interests. Unless you're worried you might actually enjoy yourself."

She swallows, all but trapped in the weight of his closeness. She doesn't know what's more disconcerting: that darkening shade of blue in his eyes or the hint of a smirk rising on his lips. The answer is inevitable and she's glad it's not a completely terrible comeback.

"It's not like I can stop you."

Within a heartbeat, he wears his trademark crooked smile again, holding her gaze a moment longer before stepping back.

"Well then, there's no time like the present. I suppose you are not going to attempt to find sleep again tonight?"

She turns her head, looking over her shoulder at the wall behind her. The clock hands are steadily approaching four in the morning. Not that it's particularly important what hour it is. She's not tired anymore, the hybrid blood in her system has done wonders for that and she doesn't want to jeopardize the state she's in by chancing another nightmare.

"Guess there's not much point," she admits. Sleep isn't important and as long as she's got him in such a good mood, she figures it's best to roll with it.

The next thing she knows, she's heading back to her room with the instruction to meet in the courtyard in twenty minutes. Just enough time to get out of her pyjamas and slip into a sundress.

Exactly the one, she realizes, that she wore on her last day at Whitmore. The one she was so proud of not staining with Matt's blood. Great, apparently it's gotten to the point where even her clothes are attached to the unpleasant memories.

She's not quite sure what just happened in there, the whole scenario being just as bizarre as yesterday when they ended up sharing a bed. These things seem to happen without her being able to figure out how or why.

It's probably also the first time she's voluntarily up at this time of morning and not because she's coming back from a night out. She has no idea what he's planning to show her, no place will be open before seven anyway.

But apparently the hybrid is taking yesterday's promise to heart and really trying to make the witch massacre up to her by being on his best behaviour – whatever that entails. Not that she needs him to work so hard to demonstrate that he has a compassionate side.

She's seen that in him before but it's not like it will change how he handles things here after she leaves. She just can't decide if she's ready to accept that these habits are not just going to disappear, even with her presence here.

She pulls on her boots and stands in front of the mirror, shrugging into her jean jacket. There's the familiarity of the worn material against her skin, even when everything else is still so uncertain.

She tucks her phone and wallet into her purse although she's pretty sure she won't be paying for anything. Not when she's got someone with her who practically owns the city.

A day with Klaus Mikealson as a guide, really, what could go wrong? For one thing, she's sure she's never spent that much time alone with him and that makes her nervous. There's still so much between them that they need to speak about but most of them are topics she doesn't want to breach.

She also can't read his intentions; especially since he hasn't made another move the way he did yesterday morning. In her books, that makes him entirely unpredictable once again.

She sets herself the goal of not arguing today, just for the sake of enjoying what he plans on showing her. This is what she planned when she came here with her humanity off, right? Exploring the city is the main goal, not worrying about whom she's doing it with.

So when she joins him downstairs in the silence of the slumbering house and he's sipping a tumbler of blood, she restrains herself from asking whose it is. Hopefully the housekeeper's, who had better be receiving compensation for the service. But after the amount she's taken just now, she can't blame him.

He's typing something on his phone but tucks it away as she approaches him.

"Someone will have to babysit while I'm gone," he explains as he catches her questioning look, "Although the staff do dote on my daughter to a fault, Elijah is simply more reliable."

He's so pragmatic about it that she can't help but toss in a comment, "Because he wouldn't have anything better to do all day than look after a toddler."

He overlooks the sarcasm, holding the gate open for her to step through, "That would imply that my brother knows how to selfishly enjoy his spare time. I assure you, he's too busy concerning himself with the wellbeing of both my daughter and her mother to let either out of his sight for long."

"Right," she walks into the misty air of early morning, glancing across at him as he keeps pace beside her, "Wasn't there also something about a curse you should be reversing?"

"That is being handled by people who are more adept with magic," Klaus waves it off, "There are more important things at hand."

She makes a non-committal noise of accord, returning her attention to the street. She doesn't know why she asked that; it's not that she's trying to send him away. No, it seems more like she subconsciously wants a confirmation that's he's here because he actually wants to be. Just for her.

As though it isn't obvious by now that she's somehow moved higher up on his list of priorities than making sure Hayley is reunited with their child. It's probably heartless to be flattered by the thought but she can't help it.

The muffled sound of jazz reaches her ears as they walk through the streets, a handful of people still milling about. Although it's the middle of the week, it doesn't seem to put that much of a damper on the amount of bars that are still open and busy at this hour.

The sounds drift through the air and she listens to the slow tunes of a piano from an establishment on the corner, catching a glimpse of swaying bodies through the milky glass.

He doesn't stop to take her into any of them though, leading her with the sureness of someone who knows every corner of the city. She sees gorgeous buildings rising around her as they crisscross the alleys of the Quarter, stroll along the expanse of a market square and pass stalls with all kinds of merchandise, although their vendors have long turned in for the night.

She's tempted to ask where he plans on taking her when they leave the lavish houses behind them and she finds him leading her into a stretch of greenery.

She guesses that it's the city park or something and as her eyes adjust to the lack of streetlight, she can make out benches and gravelly paths. Definitely a park then and surprisingly with no homeless people wandering about in these hours. She finds it's actually rather peaceful in its emptiness.

It takes some time before they reach his destination, passing some kind of abstract art installations, a handful of playgrounds and a length of riverbank on the way. He finally stops in front of a particularly large, gnarled tree with long-reaching branches that shield them from the first wisps of lightening sky above.

"The singing oak," he reveals, touching a hand to the weathered bark, "One of the few places in New Orleans where time appears to stop. At least for a while."

"What's the name for?" she asks, figuring he's got a story at hand.

She lets her gaze take in everything around, the lawns that reach out from where they stand. There's a perfectly tranquil body of water across the grounds just a few paces away. She can hear birds rustling in the foliage above her head, woken up by their early intrusion.

He turns around, indicating a low-hanging branch behind her, "Wind chimes. The sound of nature arranged in a pentatonic scale, I believe. The artist had a particular symphony in mind when he hung them up."

"And I bet…" she starts but finds herself brought up short when he places a finger to his lips, indicting silence.

In the quiet that settles over them again, she senses what he did a moment before her - a breeze passing over her skin that starts to rattle the instruments in the branches above her. It's enough to make the arrangement of cylinders tinker against one another, creating a soft melody. It's surreal, the way the whole atmosphere is transformed by the sounds.

She rounds the massive trunk, looking up into the branches and trying to spot each chime.

It's really a simple but epic idea, each one of the instruments is a little different in size and material so the sounds envelop the tree in something she could only describe as a magical aura. Like she walked right into some mystical forest from a fairytale.

There's already a sheen of sunrise on the horizon when she joins Klaus in leaning against the oak. The light is still imperceptible for the human eye but very much visible for the both of them. It builds slowly, casting a rosy hue on the clouds hovering close to the Earth's curvature.

"It's amazing. How did you find this place?" she asks him, looking out at the lake.

"I did help build this city. Though there hasn't been much opportunity to come here," he replies, hands buried in his coat pockets, "One tends to forget about the beauty of such places too easily."

"So why did you decide to show me?" she can't help but want to know.

The answer is more honest than she expects, eyes staring into middle distance.

"Urban legend has it that the presence of the tree chases away all fears, catching them in the song. Since I can only do so much to banish yours, it seemed appropriate to put the myth to a test."

She let's that hang between them, feeling the bark pressing through her jacket. Even though she doesn't have an answer for him, she can't stop a small smile from slipping through and they both watch in silence as dawn breaks over the next few minutes, covering the water with a layer of gold and setting the sky alight with colour.

Eventually, he pushes off the tree and sets out back on the walking path. She follows, her shadow returning as daylight chases away the dark and almost certain that the ring of the chimes did take some kind of weight off her.

Either that or she's unwillingly touched by the fact that he admitted to wanting to protect her from her fears. It strikes at something inside her, almost overruling the resentment that's still there.

He takes her to the Luling Mansion then, a beautiful albeit somewhat rundown building on the outskirts of the park. It looks as good as empty and the few windows on the ground floor that have curtains are still dark.

There's a car in the driveway but he doesn't pay it any mind. Despite it apparently being a historical building according to the sign outside, he produces a key for the front door and leads her all the way to the top floor.

Caroline actually listens when he explains the house's history to her, of some wealthy German merchant that settled here and how the death of his sons and the Civil War drove him away, followed by the excesses and extravagances of the Louisiana Jockey Club that occupied it in the late 1800s and practiced all kinds of debauchery. It makes her take a wild guess there was at least a handful of vampires involved.

The apartments he shows her are definitely a sight to behold, ancient decorations and ornate fireplaces still largely intact as they walk through. She instantly pictures a hundred ways this place could be renovated and decorated again and can easily imagine the Mikaelsons taking up residence in here.

She figures Klaus bought it not just as a back-up place to invest in but explicitly to brag about having the original ceiling frescoes that were done by some famous 19th century artist whose name she instantly forgets again. If the person were still alive, he'd probably hire the guy to come back and personally restore them.

She steps out through the double doors onto the balcony, takes in the wilderness of the back yard. She takes a beat to let her thoughts wander and just pretend that she's in some scene from _Gone with the Wind_. It's a clichéd classic but this place really has the vibe for it.

She lets the daydream surround her until she senses his eyes resting on her back again and snaps out of it, deciding to continue the house tour. She pretends not to be as impressed by his attention to all the details she really is.

The sun is fully up by the time he's guided her out of the neighbourhood again, buying them a round of beignets at a café around the corner that's barely just opened. She lets him place the order, figuring he knows best what is worth trying here.

The drinks are actually incredible, her coffee has that irreplaceable dusting of cocoa and cinnamon on top, and the pastries they get served are oven-warm. She raises her eyebrows as he persuades the manager to get the kitchen staff to prepare a special batch just for them with a hint of monetary incentive, no compulsion involved.

Klaus is really on his best behaviour if he's putting in the effort of not pulling any vampire tricks. Never mind that they're being replaced by bribery. He never takes his eyes off her as the food is placed in front of them and when she's utterly satisfied and licking her fingers after the fifth beignet, she leans over the table.

"So what's the history lesson for this place?"

"As much as I'm sure you'd like to believe so, I'm not familiar with the origin of every building in the city, love."

She rolls her eyes, indicating the café's interior with her spoon. "You're telling me you just picked this one because you trusted the sign outside that says they have unbeatable breakfast bargains?"

He looks down into his cup, stirring the drink absentmindedly.

"While the coffee is exceptional, it's no coincidence that one of my favourite places is nearby. The city's art museum has quite a reputation and I find that the newest curator has a particularly interesting taste when it comes to this year's collection. If you are interested, that is."

She's never gotten a particular kick out of looking at art – perhaps because the galleries around Mystic Falls are incredibly boring - but seeing the way his eyes light up at his own description of the museum, she reckons it might be worth the trip. Even if it's just to see his reactions when looking though an exhibition that she has no clue about.

They've only been out for what, two hours? But, surprisingly enough, she finds that his passion for the places they are visiting is infectious. What didn't seem like anything close to a good idea earlier is actually turning out to be quite fun. She can't remember seeing him this cheerful. At least not when it comes to anything other than planning a killing spree.

What they're doing here almost feels _normal._ It really hits home that this is the first time that they are not talking or fighting about evil plans, supernatural mayhem, potential death threats or confronting enemies.

It's a day out without any malicious incentives and he is simply taking the time to show her around. Kind of like a date, not that she would ever let herself think of it like that. The only time they went on one, it was part of a deal she didn't want to make and she had a hundred other things to think about.

It's probably this realization that has her agreeing. After all, a little cultural education never hurts and if she gets seriously bored, she can always take a shortcut to the museum shop.

"Okay."

His answering smile should already be an indication but she only finds out later what she's gotten herself into when he hands her the ticket, "I hope you're ready, love. The main collection has over forty thousand pieces."

"Forty…what? I couldn't even look at all that in a month."

He just smirks. "Feel free to guess which ones are mine."

With that, he leads her inside and she's too caught up being annoyed at herself for indulging him to notice that he's taken hold of her hand.


	17. Aren't you having the least bit of fun?

**17.** **Aren't you having the least bit of fun?**

When they finally step back out into the open, her head is so full of art trivia that she can't think straight. Thankfully, Klaus gets a call as they head towards the city again. It gives her a moment to close her eyes and turn her face towards the sun.

The past few hours were so strangely easygoing, she's honestly not sure where he's going with all this. He was right about one thing though. She is having a good time despite all circumstances.

Mainly because he's showing her that side of him again, the one that once made her keep his gifts, accept his invitations and, at the end of the day, gave her the nerve to engage in flirty banter despite being with Tyler.

Fact is that she's been relaxing in his presence while he's stringing together anecdotes about working with exceptional people in this and that era, painting gorgeous landscapes and equally gorgeous people all over Europe. And she, the girl who could get endlessly bored during history classes in high school, is listening to all of it and finds herself intrigued.

All this is just making it clearer that his personality is more than paranoia and thirst for blood. Not to forget the unchecked anger issues.

He's proving that it isn't always about grabbing power because, from time to time, it seems he had relationships that were not based on that at all. Apparently, Klaus _did_ manage to have friends over the centuries.

She glances at him while he speaks to someone on the other end of the line, watches the body language of the man she shouldn't be feeling all this for. But the reality is that she does and when her head isn't full of other problems, it's trying to come to terms with that.

Wasn't it exactly moments like these, talk of artistry and beautiful things and personal stories that led up to that day in the woods? And that would prompt the next obvious question: what is this leading to?

It's clear that the outcome is in her hands as much as in his. This is a taste of what it could be like if they came together again under other circumstances, maybe in a different place or another century.

But even right here and now, she's feeling good, almost on the verge of carefree. She's not on her toes around him, not worried about this coming at the cost of something precious to her. While that doesn't take away the bad parts, it makes them irrelevant for the minute.

She tucks her hair behind her ear, fiddling with a wily curl in the breeze that's chasing the heat away. No matter how great all this has been so far, she still has to discuss something with him before she leaves for home. That thought has been swimming around her head all morning, a nagging reminder.

For all the distraction he's been providing, it's the one thing she still hasn't cleared up between them. The one that he hasn't tried to address in the last three days either and she's willing to bet it's because he doesn't want to admit it had an effect on him.

When he approaches again, his words bring her back to the present and her face falls at the news he's got.

"According to my sources, it appears your car was brought back to Mystic Falls. Someone registered it as stolen in Baton Rouge."

Oh crap. She completely forgot that Bonnie mentioned a certain Salvatore tracking down her car. Looks like Stefan was dedicated enough to get someone to tow it, maybe trying to lure her out that way.

Or he came to the city in person to see if he could find her and when that turned out to be fruitless, decided to take it home one way or another.

But if he already came this far, there's no way he wouldn't put two and two together and figure out where she is. What are the chances of her heading across a bunch of states if she wasn't tracking down a certain hybrid who happens to be living nearby in Louisiana? That'll make for a great conversation starter when she gets back.

"Damn it," Caroline rubs her temple, annoyance rising at having to resort to the next option, "Okay. So I guess I'll try to catch a plane…"

"Consider it done."

She can't help her scoff. He really does have a solution at hand for everything, doesn't he?

He might be making her life easier by handling it himself – aka having his minions take care of it – but seriously, she's capable of organizing just about anything, especially her own travels. Just because she's dealing with emotional baggage doesn't mean she's totally incompetent.

"What, do you own an airline or something?"

"Not at all. But enough connections to ensure you a place on the next flight tomorrow, if that's what you want. First class is rarely booked out on these early inland flights, you know," he says, "Unless you'd rather be chauffeured the entire way to Mystic Falls."

Of course he would know the schedule of flights heading out to Virginia. It's not even disturbing anymore; she's grown way too accustomed to these things. He's practically the CIA.

And since she's never flown anything but economy in the handful of times she has been on a plane, the offer is too appealing to refuse. She's heard something about how they have unlimited champagne in the fancier section of the aircraft. No more convincing needed.

"I'll take the plane. I have my passport back at the house."

He nods his acceptance, already raising the phone back to his ear to arrange it. It's eerily reminiscent of another moment in time when he proposed to get her a ticket, albeit in the opposite direction. The one she would have refused at the time.

Suddenly, there's a feeling of finality attached to it, this decision to leave and she wants to kick herself for letting a nice morning get to her head. She's Caroline Forbes and once she's put her mind to something, she stands behind her choice no matter what.

But even so, as she waits for him to finish giving orders through the phone, she's battling with that pesky thought of how simple it would be to change her plans. Stay a little longer. Even if it's on borrowed time.

She knows she's got her friends to think of, her responsibilities at home. Not to mention the fiasco she's already had here up till now, which should make her know better.

But honestly, when was the last time she had a day like this and went on a city tour? Just for the sake of enjoyment. It's a luxury that she's getting to do this, full humanity appreciation included. Damn him for being right about that too, without emotions this would have been nowhere near as interesting.

But she doesn't voice those thoughts, forcing herself to get a grip when he returns to her side. Klaus also seems to be following the strategy of just ignoring that this means her departure is pretty much set in stone.

Instead, he resumes the cultural programme without a hitch.

Some kind of gateway to the voodoo underworld is next on the list. Although she's not sure she likes the sound of that, considering it's connected to witch stuff that she was planning to take a wide berth around, any weird superstitious site in this city seems to be worth a trip. Especially when she's got someone with her who was probably around to see them being built.

It's a short trip from the museum because cemeteries were apparently the most popular use of free space around the Quarter back then. They leave the colourful buildings behind, passing flocks of tourists on the way until Klaus turns a corner and indicates the white-walled perimeter ahead of them.

It's different enough from yesterday's setting to not instantly give her a feeling of foreboding. Even so, the stillness of death hangs over the grounds despite the perfect weather.

She follows him inside anyway, knowing she's over thinking again. He weaves through the mausoleums with complete certainty, heading for a particular one made from onyx-flecked marble, a darker construction amongst the pristine whiteness of the other tombs.

The reflection of the midday sun against the stone has her shielding her eyes and she almost misses when he beckons her over. Klaus points out an array of symbols, worked into the cast iron gates around the tomb.

She doesn't miss the fact that he's not quite laying a hand on the bars. They're really particular, old runes of some sort, and she's sure if Bonnie were here she would get excited about whatever they mean.

For all she can tell, this is the magical version of ancient cave paintings because she can't make sense of any of it.

The hybrid saves her from speculating. She finds herself drawn in by the incomprehensible patterns as he explains the witches' belief in the voodoo underworld. One that can only be accessed by spirits who have passed through purgatory.

Apparently it's a journey that requires them to move through seven gates in historic cemeteries around New Orleans. Which ones exactly seems to be a well guarded secret and the signs are apparently invisible to the unschooled eye.

But since he's Klaus, of course he knows more about their history than probably any of the witches that are still alive around here.

"Rumour has it that those who fail to complete this passage become lost in that space between death and the afterlife. Eventually, their souls simply vanish, lost without a body to inhabit."

"So it's basically the witches' alternate version of the Other Side?"

He pulls his hand back from the intricate metal, eyeing the tomb.

"As you know, most supernatural beings ended up on the Other Side before it collapsed. With it gone, there is nothing now. Death simply becomes the final end. Still, New Orleans witches are people of faith in their ancestors and the power they can glean from them. When they die, their powers are consecrated into the ground to be used by the generations that follow. These gates and their legend though – nothing but superstition. I have yet to meet someone back from the dead who had to pass through a set of gates."

She has to bite back a grin at his openly condescending tone. Like it's a crime for supernatural beings to be superstitious when they are all living proof that mystical powers do exist.

To be fair though, she did once ask Damon if he sparkled in the sun. A pop-culture fantasy of what vampires actually turned out to be, but really, it just means that something like a voodoo purgatory sounds pretty plausible.

She straightens from examining the designs, tossing a knowing look his way. "I think I get why you have so many witch problems."

"Consider yourself lucky to never have had one for a mother."

And there it is, the first slip up of the day. She has to swallow, pressing her lips together at the statement. It only takes a moment for both of them to process the implication of what he just said but it's not the sarcasm that gets to her.

Normally, she would have jibed something right back at him but the fleeting reference to her mom rushes straight through her head, cutting off any ability to make a witty comment. The thought sinks into her chest, leaden and cold.

She knows he didn't mean to mention it, but the reminder is there anyway. She's frustrated that it affects her so much. They weren't even directly talking about _her_ mother. She seriously can't bring the word up in a conversation without feeling like this?

Not that it should be a surprise. This is what grief is supposed to be like, right? It's what she needs to go through before it can get better. But knowing that doesn't make it sting less and doesn't stop her from wishing, if just for a split second, that her humanity was still off.

In her silence, he realizes his mistake just as quickly as she does. She sees him open his mouth, the words surely already on his tongue but she holds up her hand.

"It's fine. It's not like I can avoid the subject forever," she points out, physically shrugging it off, "Didn't get me far the last time I tried."

She looks over his shoulder at the tombs in their perfectly aligned rows, the metal fences around them catching the sunlight in a way that makes them appear absolutely harmless. Beautiful even, for cemetery standards.

But she knows what's going to happen if she lets herself think about death and spirits passing on any more right now and she's not willing to start another round of spontaneous assault for his blood. Not in public anyway, that's for sure.

She should have listened to her gut warning her that it was a bad idea to come in here.

"Let's go somewhere else," she says, intent on ditching the topic for something lighter before the mood changes, "Because if this is on top of the list of must-sees around here, you need to rethink your tour concept."

He doesn't hesitate to follow her suggestion as she turns back in the direction they came from. In the next instant, there's a hand on the small of her back, an apologetic stroke of fingers brushing along her spine as he steers her back to the entrance.

Caroline allows him, letting it distract her and maybe, just maybe, appreciating the feel of his hand through the cotton just a little bit. Not that she's keeping track of the amount of times he's touched her today.

 **/**

An hour later, they're strolling along the breakwater of Lake Pontchartrain, yachts and sailing boats bobbing across the water's surface that seems to stretch out endlessly in front of them.

It's a beautiful part of the country he picked for himself, she'll give him that.

The sight of the sunlight painting rainbow ripples on the water almost makes her forget that she wanted to talk to him about something else. It's a good place as any, seeing as they are almost alone out here. So when they reach the end of the path with nothing but the blue depths on either side, she pauses.

He's just finished telling her how the causeway across the lake is actually the tenth-longest bridge in the world when she turns to him, her thoughts already elsewhere.

"I need to ask you something."

He looks over at her, his mouth curling into that amiable expression he's been wearing more than usual today. "Doesn't that sound serious?"

For once, Caroline doesn't mirror his teasing. "The letter. You read it, didn't you?"

She's busy not meeting his gaze when she brings the question over her lips, but still senses his brow furrowing. There's no answer for several moments before he gives her the reply she feared she was going to get. Camille did her job well after all.

"Yes."

His tone does nothing to hide that he's apprehensive about where she's going with this.

"All of it?" she checks, waiting until he nods his confirmation, "Then I guess I don't have to tell you that it wasn't exactly the best I ever wrote. I mean, not that the contents were worse than the way it was delivered, that's not what I'm saying. It's just that I didn't actually think about what it meant. The stuff I was writing wasn't supposed…"

He chuckles at that, cutting right into her justification. It's a sound of bemusement but it's got a bitter note to it.

"Of course you thought about what it meant, love. It was emotions you lacked, not sense. Your intentions were more than clear. You wanted to express your dissatisfaction with me in a way that you thought I understand best. I suppose using a new medium to voice that distaste once more had its appeal."

When he puts it like that, it sounds pretty bad. She doesn't let that throw her off though, trying to find a good way to make her point.

"That's not what I'm getting at."

The hybrid shakes his head, his previous joviality all but gone. "Why are we speaking about this, Caroline?"

"Because I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have kidnapped me and forced me to turn my emotions back on if I hadn't hurt you with what I said in that letter. Because you haven't mentioned it at all, even though we both know it started this whole thing. Because I insulted you and you've still gone out of your way to help me since I got my humanity back, which makes me the rude one here if I don't apologize. Sure, maybe I believed those things I wrote at some point and maybe parts of it are true. But that's … not all of it is still that way."

He stares at her for a moment, like he can't quite believe she's been thinking about this so much. Like he was sure he wouldn't need to address this at all. Then the familiar mask of indifference falls into place, his voice growing neutral again.

"And you think I would take something as trivial as a spiteful letter to heart? That I would let it affect my decisions?"

"I don't know," she answers because honestly, he always has his own motives and more often than not, they're completely ambiguous, "But even if you didn't, if you figured out that I was offending you just because I didn't have my humanity and thought it was the best way to get you to leave me alone, it was still the worst kind of hate mail. You're telling me you don't care about that?"

He simply gives her his best sardonic smile.

"Would you believe it, I've had a fair share of abuse thrown my way over the centuries. That letter contained nothing I hadn't heard before. Quite mild really, compared to others. Consider me thick-skinned."

She's not giving up that fast. Not when he's still avoiding a real answer and his gaze is shifting back to the body of water that's lapping at their feet. She's seen him get hurt before, knows how he wore the raw pain of being helpless when his brother got killed.

She's witnessed the look he gets when he's pulling back into himself.

"So what did you do with it?"

"As a matter of fact, I didn't waste much thought on it, considering I had someone with a mortal injury lying on my floor at the time."

"So you still have it," she reads between the lines, "Why? You could have burned it, trashed it or whatever recycling you do in your place."

He pauses in his response for a second there, that one extra heartbeat that gives him away. Still, he replies with that same stoic facade, his questions cynical enough to mock her.

"What do you expect to hear? An answer to convince you I reacted in a way that justifies your apparent self-reproach? That it rattled me profoundly enough to miss the moment where I could have saved a friend's life and I kept it to fuel some kind of guilt? That this is what drove me to help you for the sake of my conscience? Or perhaps you want to know that it serves as proof of what you despise in me and I keep it as some perverse form of self-punishment?"

"If any of that is true," she holds her ground, "Yes."

He doesn't indulge her prompt, evidently of the opinion that he gave away too much already. The sunshine on his face contradicts the brewing storm behind his eyes.

"I don't see how this is relevant. If you wish to apologize to ease your mind, consider it accepted. And rest assured, I would have had enough motivation to reconnect you to your humanity with or without that letter."

He's already moving to walk back to the mainland when she steps in the way, blocking his escape just like he did on her first day.

"Still not an answer. Why did you keep it, Klaus?" she repeats.

She's not oblivious to the way his gaze drops again, how an exasperated sigh reverberates through him. Probably considering how it would go over if he was to just ignore the question altogether and leave her standing there.

But last night he wanted to prove himself worthy of her trust and in the moments that it takes him to find a reply, she can see that he's reminding himself of that. Considering if it's worth it to deny her this.

She didn't plan to engage in an argument here, but she wants his honesty, just like he has asked for hers several times now. It's only fair. She can be persistent and he knows it.

His eyes search the area around them, trailing over a handful of people several yards away before finding hers again. Almost as though he's worried that his next words might be heard by someone that could use the truth against him. Either way, he speaks them quietly.

"A reminder, perhaps. Sometimes, it's unavoidable to be confronted with the side of yourself that is capable and guilty of horrible crimes. My siblings point out my flaws time and time again but family is not always who you want advice from. Then there's you, who is brutally honest with me despite knowing what I do to those who dare threaten my authority. You continue to ask more of me and…" he catches himself and she can see the indecision on his face, "more often than not you do make me want to be better, Caroline."

She blinks, knowing her jaw might have just dropped a little. Not to mention the acceleration of her heartbeat.

The surprise at that answer is definitely obvious. Okay, maybe she was guiding the conversation in that general direction but to hear him say it like that ignites something in the depths of her chest.

He's still trying to become a better person, for her. Big bad hybrid persona aside, he is different when he's with her. She doesn't understand what the hell she's doing that could possibly fuel such an aspiration. What she does know is that this connection is real.

He may pretend to be unaffected when she tells him off with harsh truths but it seems her words strike deeper than she ever imagined. Although, the heated disputes they have every time they don't see eye-to-eye about something should have been an indication.

"Not really that thick-skinned, then," she quips but at the pointed look she receives, adds; "When I said that doing terrible things makes you a terrible person, I meant it. But that was when my world was still pretty black and white. Now I know that it's not that easy. People are never just one thing. So I'm sorry for what I said in the letter and … you should know that it's not how I feel. Obviously, since I didn't feel much of anything in the last two weeks."

"As opposed to how you felt when you were berating me for my actions yesterday," he contests, but even in that accusation his voice is gentler this time.

"Hey, emotions that are all over the place is kind of what humanity is. I never said my feelings can't change and by the way, yesterday was totally justified. Someone had to give you a reality check," she reminds him.

Her smile is genuine though and even as he shakes his head in response, she sees the quirk of his lips, betraying his amusement. Just that easily, they are on the same page again, returning to the safe ground of casual teasing. It expels tension from her body that she hadn't even been aware of.

That leaves just one more thing.

"You should burn it anyway."

His eyes seek hers out again, considering the suggestion. "Curiously enough, it sounds almost as though you're afraid it might find a place in the archives beside a certain Miss Mystic application."

She groans. "You seriously still have that?"

"In case you haven't noticed yet, I'm a collector," he remarks as they start walking again, crossing the grass and heading back towards the road, "Although gathering information on foes takes precedence over background checks on other acquaintances. I like to keep my enemies closer."

All she can hear from that is that he legitimately still has a file on her floating around somewhere. Who knows what else he dug up? She dearly hopes there are no old cheerleading photos in there.

"Please tell me you're kidding."

His grin doesn't actually help her discern whether or not he is joking. "It's surprising you haven't found it yet, considering you spent such an extraordinary amount of time going through my things two nights ago."

She honestly wonders how he even knows about that. Here she thought he was actually busy doing politics with Marcel when really, he was keeping tabs on what she was doing. Or he noticed a telltale neatness in his mess of an art studio.

"Now you're just sidetracking. Come on, you had someone keep an eye on me in Mystic Falls, which is not at all okay by the way. So how far-fetched is it to think you stalked everything else in my life too?"

He corrects her on that one. "That tail was actually there to keep an eye on all vampire affairs in the town after my departure. Stefan and I may have been friends in the past but that does not make him efficient at passing on relevant information. When you happened to take off by yourself, I simply thought it may be for some new plan cooked up by your little gang and had him investigate further."

Unbelievable. Her guess was totally on point; he had someone watching them since graduation. No wonder he knew about things like her break-up with Tyler. But he chose to stay behind the scenes anyway, only making his way back when news like Katherine's impending death reached him.

"So you knew what was going on in our lives the whole time?"

He chuckles at her incredulity but doesn't hesitate to put it into perspective.

"Considering I have spies all around the world that need keeping track of, no, I did not stay up-to-date at all times. As you may have noticed, New Orleans is no picnic either so other matters took precedence. I simply wanted to be aware of significant changes, considering Mystic Falls is quite the magnet for trouble and that trouble tends to find you and your friends. Although you still have no plans to move away, I assume?"

"I'm in the middle of my degree," she reminds him.

He raises his eyebrows, apparently finding that an insufficient argument. "Easily transferrable to a different institution."

"There's my friends, my home, all my memories. And after everything we did to protect it from bad guys – including you – what kind of person would I be if I just left?"

He stops to look at her, really taking her in as she stands there, the breeze tugging at her dress and brushing golden strands across her indignant expression. Then he slowly reaches over, pushing the loose curls away from her face. She does her best to stay unaffected but there's something about the way he touches her, almost reverently, that has her holding her breath.

"We can speak about this again in a few decades," he says, "And by then, I'm sure you'll know exactly what kind of person you want to be."

There's a meaningful silence that follows that, one in which she's almost certain he'll lean in closer any second now to give her another reminder why she probably will come back for that conversation in the future.

But he doesn't this time around and when he puts some distance between them again, breaking the contact, she feels a whole different kind of craving. One that she can only deal with by covering it with another.

She clears her throat. "If we're going to be getting into these topics, I think I need a drink."

The smirk returns, his question ever so innocently evocative.

"Champagne?"

She rolls her eyes at the reference even though she's a tad impressed he still remembers that. But if she were to tally all the times they drank, it's actually insane how often there was some reason for them to have a glass of it together.

Her - drinking mainly as an excuse to not have to deal with him while sober. Him - probably just for the pleasure.

"I always thought New Orleans was more of a Bourbon city. Or is that just the standard go-to drink of every vampire I've ever met?" she wonders.

"Cajun Rum, if we're being specific to the area. There's a place just around the corner," he indicates the length of the street behind her, "An old friend owns it, a smuggler I turned in the twenties. Very hospitable fellow."

"Do you really just know every…" she starts but finds the rest of her words reduced to a strangled gurgle when something hits her in the chest. There's enough force in the blow to send her stumbling backwards, "What the…"

She manages to raise her eyes just fast enough to glimpse two figures approaching from behind Klaus but her eyesight is already going woozy. There's a yell that sounds suspiciously like a particular hybrid's furious voice and an audible crack of bone that silences him a second later.

Somehow, she's on her knees, steadily numbing fingers finding her chest and the dart needle embedded in her skin. Oh, look at that, it's not even one but two of them. She doesn't have to feel the hot burn rapidly spreading out from the point of injection to know she's been dosed with a whole lot of vervain.

It's a freaking ambush and they didn't even notice it coming. Where the hell did these people come from when there's nothing but road and open spaces out here? How is Klaus limp on the ground beside her, his neck harshly twisted to one side?

She didn't see anyone in their proximity, let alone thinks someone could come close enough to snap his spine. It can't be possible. She must be having some kind of hallucination. At least that's what she tells herself as her muscle control finally gives out and she slumps down beside him.

Her vision is going black, her system getting knocked out by the tonic. The last thing she sees are two dark faces above her and a steady stream of melodic words being spoken she can't place – isn't that Latin? Spanish? Her mind is so muddled, it could be English and she just can't differentiate the sounds anymore.

Then there's the pressure of fingers against her forehead and she slips into darkness.


	18. What's worth dying for if not love?

**18\. What's worth dying for if not love?**

The first sounds that greet her when she comes around from the tranquiliser, is the clink of glass hitting glass, followed by the wet sloshing of liquid.

"No, that's actually not how I was planning to spend my day, locked up in your place watching over some passed out stranger. Seriously, you're not even going to … you know this is the gazillionth time I've been left out of the loop for no good reason. Yeah, right, for my own safety but last time I checked, Klaus already abducted and tortured me – oh wait, just a day ago - because of one of your plans. Okay, yours and Davina's plan. Whatever. Point being, if anyone has the right to know what's happening, it's me."

Caroline suppresses a groan as awareness returns to her muscles, all the feeling flooding back into her limbs in pin and needles while she's willing herself to remain silent. She needs to assess her situation.

She can smell whiskey in the air, on top of the crisp scent of leather and dusty carpet. Definitely inside a building then.

There's something solid under her back, more straight-edged than a chair and distinctly more uncomfortable. In the seconds it takes to make sense of her position and that gravity is keeping her on that surface, she realizes she's been laid down on hardwood floor.

She can't quite place the talker yet and takes the risk of cracking an eye open to survey the place. There's a man straight ahead, his back to her as he speaks into a cell phone. Dark hair, olive skin and jeans that are just a little too creased, almost like he slept in them.

What's also obvious is the annoyance in his gestures, the way his knuckles are stark against the tumbler in his hand. Whoever is on the other end isn't in exactly the guy's good graces at the moment.

From what she can tell, there's only him in the room and it looks like he's thankfully still oblivious to the fact that she's awoken. She can't sense anyone else in the proximity, which is at least some good news.

It means she only has to concentrate on taking out one of them.

She tilts her head aside, taking a fast inventory of the industrial loft, all brick walls and tastefully sparse furniture around her. Random decorational items, lots of bottles ranging from full to almost empty. Aka, lots of weapons if it comes to needing one at hand.

"You know, just because I was out of town for a while doesn't make this okay. I know I missed a bunch of stuff but if this is for another super risky spontaneous 'take-down-the-Originals' plan, I'd like to be prepared to book my flight to the last corner of Antarctica if things get out of hand. Which they generally do."

She zeroes her attention in on her chest, finds the darts still snugly embedded in her skin, emptied of their contents. As quietly as she can, she shifts her arm up to pull the stupid plastic vessels out. She can still feel the faint burn of their residue under her skin but it's steadily fading.

If she managed to wake up, the brunt of it must have worn off already. Since she has no sense of time, except for the fact that light is still streaming through the large windows, its possible she could have been passed out for hours.

What's weird about the whole scenario is that the rest of her seems to be chain and rope-free because when she tries her limbs, she finds they're completely unrestrained. What the hell?

Either these guys are too confident in their kidnapping skills or they're plain stupid. Who vervains a vampire to take them out and then just dumps them somewhere without tying them up? They might as well have asked her politely to relocate.

Her eyes stick to the speaker's back, watching him take a deep swig of his drink as he wanders over to the window, still arguing with the caller. There's something particular about him that rings a bell, she's certain she's seen him before but her memories are still sharpening. She can't put a name to him yet.

Not that it matters. She's going to get out of here the second she can make it to her feet.

"Fine. But you'd better get your ass over here soon. You know I don't do this whole hostage holding thing, Marcel. Whatever the plan is ... yeah. Okay, I get it. I'll keep an eye on her."

Then there's the telltale sound of a call being hung up and the guy heaves a deep sigh to the heavens before downing his drink and moving to turn around.

The grumbling complaint about useless, secretive friends is already falling from his mouth when he catches sight of her, standing in the place she was supposed to be laying unconscious.

She was going to go the direct way of springing him and snapping his neck before she loses the advantage but the second he's facing her, she finds herself hesitating. She does know him.

Davina's friend. The same young vampire that her hybrid host did a real number on yesterday before they were exchanged.

He's quick to wear the same recognition on his face, only that the expression is mixed with underlying shock. Apparently this wasn't part of the plan that included abducting her from the streets in broad daylight.

"Holy shit, how are you awake already?" he yelps, almost dropping his phone.

If the situation weren't so serious and she wasn't pissed off about being taken hostage, she might have laughed at how he scrambles to catch the device just in time. It's comical to see someone with superhuman reflexes succeeding at looking extra clumsy.

And he obviously has his priorities wrong if he's worried about a broken phone more than her very possibly breaking his spine in the next moment. Like he's not aware of the fact that he's her enemy here.

But the reaction makes her forget all about the initial idea to either kill the guy or make a break for it. Instead, she advances on him with her eyes narrowed.

"How about you answer _my_ question?" she suggests, letting her fangs slide out for an extra bit of threat, "Where am I and what the hell am I doing here?"

He has the good sense to swallow in nervousness, backing up against the window. Obviously, he thinks she's way stronger than she actually is in her post-knocked out recovery right now. The guy is giving her way too much credit but she's not about to enlighten him that she's not planning on taking his heart out.

Judging from what she heard in the phone call, he is just a delegate to the person who is actually behind this. She's planning to get back at that one once she's figured out what's going on.

"I…uh…you're…that stuff should have knocked you out for, like, four hours," he is still confused, babbling, not sure how to deal with this surprising turn of events.

His shock does yield some useful information because apparently, she hasn't been out for that long. Maybe drinking so much of Klaus' blood in the past couple of days did result in some useful side effects.

She doesn't know how else she'd come out of being put down by the darts so easily. Either way, there are more important things to find out.

"Not my problem," she tells him, barely three feet away now, "But I really hope you're not going to make me repeat myself."

"This is Marcel's place," he blurts, eyes darting back and forth between her and the doorway over her shoulder. He manages to keep his words casual enough; tossing a joke in there like it might throw her off, "Hence, the booze collection on pretty much every surface."

It's not even a surprise to hear the man's name in connection with this. She's all too ready to make that vampire apologize for this. Of course, who else would be involved if not Marcel, whose dislike of her still seems to outweigh any clearing of her name that Davina has done?

Still, if there's some greater scheme behind this, she wants to know before jumping into the fray again and unless this guy gets a move on in telling her, she might take her anger out on him after all.

"Which doesn't explain why I woke up here, shot up with vervain," she hisses.

His attempt at a smile drops at seeing the red bleeding into her eyes but his answer is quick, "Well, that makes two of us that are clueless. I literally got a call half an hour ago to drop everything and come supervise an unconscious vampire, no details."

Absurd as it is, she believes him. His heart never skips a beat and really, he has way too much of an honest face to be able to lie to her straight up close. Especially when she is only an arm's length away from potentially burying a hand in his chest.

She slowly retracts her vampire features, "From who? Marcel?"

"Yeah. I had no idea the person he was talking about was you until I got here. Er … not that I actually _know_ who you are but I guess you saved Davina's life from Klaus yesterday so, from where I'm standing, you're not one of the bad guys. Obviously, since they took our favourite enemy somewhere else so I'm guessing this is about him again."

She blinks, noticing for the first time what she should have realized five minutes ago when she woke from the drug haze. Klaus isn't here with her.

She doesn't know why but that thought instantly has anxiety threading its way through her body, recalling how he was put down right there on the pavement beside her.

The pieces are gradually moving into place but she's not seeing the full picture yet.

"They?"

"Him and Vincent. Again, I just know this through Marcel. So it would be super great if you could just stick around here until…"

She's not paying attention anymore, stepping past him to look out the window. She can see scenery she's come to know in the past few days stretching out on the other side of the river. Looks like this place is conveniently just across from the Quarter, albeit with a wide length of water separating the two.

So at least she's not completely in the middle of nowhere like she expected. This might really be the most pathetic abduction she's ever had.

"You're saying the vampires and the witches are working together on this?" she interrupts him, looking at the city that seems undisturbed as ever despite what she's seen in the shadows of its streets.

He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly seeming unsure himself.

"Well, nah, Vincent just kind of works with Marcel when he has to because, from what I've heard since I've been back here, he's their only vamp ally in New Orleans at the moment. It's been a bit weird since Davina became Reagent but she and Marcel still go way back, so this stuff is probably a favour for her. But apparently nobody here thinks it's important enough to include me in these discussions for my own good right now, so I honestly have no idea."

For all she knows, it could be true. The two faces she saw before she collapsed, she'd wager a bet they belonged to the men that already put her down once before.

The chants, the way Klaus' neck got twisted even though she hadn't seen anyone close enough to do that. It's definitely plausible. One came at them with magic, the other with vervain darts.

The only question that's still unanswered is the why behind all this. Is it retaliation for the rampage Klaus went on in the cemetery yesterday?

If that's the case, he's probably being tortured somewhere right now. Even Marcel could have enough incentive to see the hybrid paying for a bunch of things, starting with Cami.

But then why would they be separated? It seems logical that they would use her in order to taunt him because what better way to torture someone than by hurting a person they clearly have a vested interest in?

Klaus has protected her too many times in the past few days to feign a lack of relationship at this point. She'd be the ideal target and they'd be more prepared than Davina was. If they're working by themselves, she figures they have no qualms about getting their hands dirty.

But that theory still doesn't seem right.

It's the young witch's involvement that's nagging at her, knowing that the girl already tried to put Klaus in his place and that ended up in a heap of bodies. It doesn't make sense that she would have another go right the day after.

Unless it's not about revenge against either of them at all.

Because maybe she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time today and the one they actually wanted was Klaus because they need him for something specific. Something that has nothing to do with the witches he killed.

Which would leave her to be put somewhere else for safekeeping because just leaving her passed out on the pavement wasn't a smart option.

It dawns on her then, what this could be. The reason she woke up here and is far from being tied up, tortured or bleeding out. Although to be fair, they expected her to be unconscious for much longer.

But it's the same reason why they only left this guy, who clearly has no wish to inflict any pain on her, to supervise. This doesn't look like it's a call for a fight but more like an undercover operation. The less people know, the better.

She feels her eyes widening as the most obvious explanation sets in and has to smack a hand against her forehead, swearing.

"I think I know what's happening here."

She's already moving from her place by the window and striding towards the doorway, intent on breaking up what she's pretty sure she started in the first place. Before she thought too hard about what implications it would have.

"Whoa, one sec, slow it down," the young vampire flashes into her path, holding his hands up as a barrier that earns him nothing but a glower, "What are you talking about? And hey, what did I say about going somewhere?"

"Move," she instructs, trying to dodge the obstruction and knocking the tumbler out of his hand in the process. Despite his lack of agility, he effectively uses his wide build to keep her from barging past so she has to pause in the shards at their feet, "Look, I don't know how long I was out for so they could have already started with the spell. I need to get there, right now. Move before I have to make you."

"First of all, you're not supposed to leave here," he starts with the reminder once more but immediately goes on when her glare becomes steely, "At the same time, I'm not delusional enough to think you won't get past me if you really want to and I've had enough broken necks recently to not want a repeat. So at least enlighten me what you're going on about – what spell?"

She bites her lip to stop herself from simply yelling at him. This will probably go much faster if she just gives him what he's asking for. There's probably no harm in it and she'd rather not beat him up, considering Klaus did enough of that in her name.

"When I was sitting around as Davina's prisoner, she came to me and asked if I knew a way to bring someone back from the dead. I have a friend that has access to stuff like resurrection spells. We made the deal for her to clear my name about what happened with Cami so I gave her what she asked for. I didn't think she was actually going to go through with it. Or not so fast anyway. This spell is some seriously creepy magic and if she's doing what I think she's doing, then there's all kinds of ways that it can go wrong and I'm not going to just wait for that to happen."

"Uh huh," he's processing that, she can see him starting to follow her line of thought, although way too slowly for her liking, "I'm not even going to ask about half of the things you said there but are you telling me that you found a way for her to raise Kol from the dead?"

"Yes."

"And to do that, she needs Klaus?"

She can't believe he really wants to get into details now. "Yeah, and another relative. She needs their blood, or something, I'm not an expert how it works."

He crosses his arms then, giving her an expectant onceover. "And after giving her the means to bring back the guy that's basically her first real love in this messed up place, you just want to go in there now and tell her not to go through with it?"

That brings her up short because he's got a point. A valid one. If she runs in there guns blazing, it might not make an ounce of a difference. If anything, that will probably make Davina give her a magical migraine that'll knock her out on the spot.

She doesn't think the witch plans to kill Klaus and whomever else she has with her to complete the spell. But she remembers that there's a sacrifice involved and, for some reason, she feels the need to stop her from making a mistake that she might regret.

Killing someone in cold blood for the sake of bringing another person back from whatever realm supernatural beings go to now - it's a hard trade to make. Nobody will have volunteered for the job and Caroline finds herself concerned at the thought that the girl might have picked someone who doesn't deserve such a fate.

Not that it's their place to judge who does.

"I just want to make sure she knows what's at stake, okay?" she snaps, "So you can either help me find them or get out of my way. I mean it."

"And what is at stake here, huh? Klaus being pissed and trying to get rid of her when he's not busy using her for his evil plans? That's been the status quo ever since they met."

"She'll have to kill someone, okay? The spell needs the sacrifice of a person that probably did nothing to any of you and I'm guessing nobody filled out an application to play sacrificial lamb for a Mikaelson," she pins him down with her stare, "Still think it's a good idea to sit around here waiting for a phone call?"

He does blanch at her words and they shut him up for a couple of moments, looking at her like he's not sure if she really just said that. But seeing her determination, he caves.

"Fine, but I'm coming. I'm still her best friend. She helped me out yesterday and if what you're saying is really … well, I think I should be returning the favour."

She doesn't wait for him to finish the sentence as she breezes past, already with a steadily growing idea of where she might find the witch. That is if her hunch turns out correct. Because what other place would be more appropriate to raise the dead than a cemetery?

"I'm Josh, by the way," he mentions from behind her as they head down the stairs, the impact of their shoes echoing in the empty building, "Just so, you know, if you come up with a plan on the way, you can include me without the 'random vampire' label."

"Caroline," she responds over her shoulder, pushing the heavy steel door open, "What's the best way to get to that Lafayette Cemetery?"

"Take a left," he indicates the bridge in the distance connecting to the other riverbank, at the end of the docks, "So how exactly did you manage to get involved in all this Originals business?"

She just shakes her head, already pulling him along. "You don't even want to know."

 **/**

It's harder to find her way back to the place of the hostage exchange than she expects, even though the graveyard really isn't all that big. She finds herself glad she took the vampire with her for navigation.

Massive white tomb with an altar in front of it, probably still covered in blood but otherwise pretty much like every other one in the cemetery? Very specific.

He seems to know his way around better than her in any case and takes the lead, winding through the maze of mausoleums and soon leaving the tourist area behind.

There's silence around them for several moments before her ears pick up the low cackling of flames, insatiably feeding on gasoline. As they head closer to the source, the faint thump of several heartbeats is added to the mix and she can feel her own accelerate with anticipation.

Rounding the last column of burial sites ahead of them, they come to a stop on the gravel and she finds her breath catching at the sight.

In the shadow cast by the largest of tombs on the grounds, there's the evidence of what she dreaded to find. The sky has turned cloudy on their way, casting the cemetery into a shade that only adds to the darkness she senses seeping from the tombs.

Her gaze sweeps across the scene, catching on Vincent who is standing a little way off, hands tucked under his chin in a gesture that almost appears to be one of prayer. She doesn't believe that for a second.

His focus is entirely on the younger witch, so fixated he doesn't notice them approaching. She follows his line of sight to the charcoal lines of a pentagram that's been traced on the stone, torches at each tip.

Without meaning to, her feet carry her closer and her eyes latch onto the two figures lying within the symbol, clearly unconscious.

God knows how they pulled it off but there's Freya, looking just as she did when she left the compound last night. Only instead of being confident and in control, as usual, there's a prominent bruise on the side of her head now and her eyes are closed, looking anything but the all-powerful witch.

Out of nowhere, she finds that she almost feels protective.

Klaus lies on the other side of the markings, entirely still and deathly pale in the flicker of the fire. He's breathing and there are no signs of desiccation but that's only a small consolation.

She's speechless at the sight because how on earth Davina managed to put the hybrid down like that is a mystery to her.

There's something about him in that position that scrapes at her insides, digging a valley between empathy and anger and she doesn't know which feeling to address first.

She knows this is a situation that needs careful handling but she's not sure she's up for it, blood thundering in her ears and nearly drowning out what's happening around her.

She can hear both the siblings' hearts beating but the sound is subdued, something suppressing their energy. Between them stands a silver urn, placed right in the centre. It doesn't take much to guess its contents. There's the youngest Original brother, in the ashes.

The witch is standing above the scene, at the altar where the heads of her people rolled less than a day ago. The dry splashes of blood are still visible, coating the steps and adding to how ominous this whole set-up already feels.

Caroline can tell there's something different about the girl this time. It seems darkness is emerging from within, as she stands there swathed in the firelight. What really catches her eye though, is how Davina is rolling a dagger between her fingers, staring at the blade.

She takes another step forward, barely ten paces away from the pentagram when she meets solid air. The shock she receives from the barrier reverberates across the ground, raising dust and making both witches raise their heads.

Evidently, Davina learned from the last encounter they had here and took the necessary precautions.

"Why are you here?" the Reagent straightens but doesn't move from her spot, brow furrowed as she takes in the two of them, "I told them to put you somewhere safe."

"Yeah, they did," Caroline replies, rubbing her chest where the barrier repelled her none too gently, "I just wasn't going to stay there when I figured out what you were going to do."

Josh speaks up from behind her, staying a safe distance away from the invisible wall. But his voice gives him away, betraying that he is not liking this scenario at all. Or perhaps not liking that she was right about his friend's intentions.

She places a wild guess that it's the weapon he sees clenched in her hands, which triggers the outburst.

"So it's true? You're seriously trying to resurrect Kol? Davina, we just buried one of our best friends, I get it, it's horrible to deal with. I felt the same when Aiden was killed. But now you're going to try to bring back someone from the dead … call me crazy, I think that's messing with some serious supernatural spirit stuff. How do you know you're strong enough? What if you get hurt?"

The girl's expression softens just slightly but she stands her ground, not budging.

"I know you might not understand now. But I've been looking for a way to bring him back for months and now that I have it, I can't just ignore that. Don't look at me like I'm not thinking straight, I've had my mind set on this for a long time. I might never get another chance like this. You've got to trust me, Josh."

"She's got the power as the covens' Reagent now," Vincent points out, shifting from his spot to face them too, "And while I might not agree with her choice to return him to the living either, I can respect it. If we get Kol Mikaelson back, he can be a powerful ally as a witch on our side."

From where she's standing, this is already a conversation that's wasting time. She knows the real reason that the witch is doing this and if there's anything she can appeal to right now, it's Davina's conscience.

It doesn't occur to her to wonder why she's trying to sway her from this ritual in the first place. Instinct, yes, but if she were being honest with herself right now, she'd know the warning leaving her lips is not solely out of concern for the girl's innocence.

"And you're willing to kill for that?" she asks, the question cutting through the air and silencing both men in an instant, "You think he'd want you to do that?"

Davina freezes, catching her eye across the expanse of marble, the two bodies lying at her feet. She thinks she can see something like indecision flashing over the pretty face, a seed of doubt planted.

There's a heavy silence that follows before the witch uncoils from her position and descends the steps into the perimeter of the pentagram.

"You're trying to protect them," the girl says, the length of her dress brushing along Klaus' arm as she slowly crouches beside the limp hybrid, "I understand. Even though you gave me the spell to do this in the first place. But that doesn't mean you know _me_ , you have no idea what I went through to be here today. I've killed before and I will do it again if it gets me back the one person that I care about most. Tell me you wouldn't do that too."

She's about to open her mouth to give her exactly that answer but no sound escapes. She can't voice that lie out loud because she's already done just that.

It doesn't stop at those twelve witches to save Bonnie. She's killed for them all. For Elena. For Tyler. For her mom. And if she was given the choice to resurrect Liz right now at the expense of another life, she knows she wouldn't say no.

So she presses her lips together and looks back at the witch with burning eyes. She can't deny it but she also can't support this, despite being the one to set it all in motion.

Davina doesn't reply anything, nor does she gloat. She simply nods at Vincent who disappears around the back of the tomb after throwing another warning glance at the two of them. They can't penetrate the barricade anyway, not for lack of trying.

Josh is speaking up again, beseeching the girl who grasps the dagger tightly now. Saying something about how there are other ways, how Rebekah is out looking for a solution too.

She doesn't seem to hear him, her attention completely fixed on performing the spell.

Caroline is tempted to tell him its futile. Incantations are already being spoken and she finds herself pressing against the barrier, ignoring the burn of its repulse as she witnesses the blade dragging along the hybrid's arm.

It makes her own skin crawl to see the red blossoming in the wake of its trail and she half expects Klaus to wake from the wound.

But there's no reaction, just blood pooling around his arm and sliding along the charcoaled lines with a mind of its own. Freya's offering follows but the witch takes care to make a smaller gash across the Original's hand, avoiding major veins.

The blonde twitches at the dagger's contact but slackens again when Davina steps away from them. Coaxed by her magic, the dark streams follow the pattern on the ground, filling each corner of the symbol before congregating in the centre.

The torches flare up and both vampires flinch back at the sudden heat, the invisible wall providing no protection from the blaze.

Caroline only realizes then that her hands are raw from where she's been in contact with the barrier all this time. Her breathing has sped up; she feels the itch to let her fangs break free of her gums and attack. What or whom doesn't matter.

It's irrational and, more importantly, impossible to do anything so instead, she blindly grips the arm of the vampire next to her with her blistered fingers. He hisses through his teeth at the force of her hold but she doesn't care.

The witch retrieves two objects from the altar - an impressive oversized diamond and something that looks like a metal star of sorts.

Dipping both of them in the steadily growing puddle of blood, Davina sinks down to her knees beside the urn, chanting with such force that it seems to strip away all warmth around them, rendering the sun obsolete.

Wind picks up as the incantations continue, sending the flames into frenzy and she's sure that if her vampire flesh could still rise in goosebumps, it would. That's when Vincent returns, carrying the body of a man over his shoulder. She sucks in a breath, knowing what's going to come next.

"Don't do it," is all she can call over the whistle of the breeze that's steadily picking up force, "Davina!"

The dark-skinned witch lowers the limp figure down on the altar and after several more beats of chanting, the girl moves from her position on the ground. Reclaiming the knife, she returns up the marble steps, fingers already dipped in red.

It's when she's standing above the man, glancing down at the unconscious face, that the witch hesitates in her motions.

There's a moment of stumbling in the chant and just for a split second, fear settling on her features. But she catches herself quickly enough, catching Caroline's gaze through the flames.

She wants to tell the witch with her eyes there's no coming back from this, no way to undo what she's about to do. Defiance reflects back at her. Then the knife comes down, sinking into the exposed chest.

The body immediately convulses despite the lack of consciousness and she sees Davina gasp at the resistance, wrapping both hands around the hilt of the dagger as she struggles to keep herself from pulling back.

Red drenches the stone, coating the blade and soaking the fabric of the witch's dress.

Josh groans, clearly feeling the same agony that his friend is physically experiencing from just watching. This time it's him that clutches onto the blonde's arm and she bites her tongue his nails dig into her.

She can't tell anymore if it's bloodlust or horror that has her tracing all of the witch's movements with her eyes.

The girl returns to the pentagram and places the dagger into the urn, diamond and star finding their way back into her hands. All three drenched in different life elixirs, forming a triad and it triggers something within the rune.

Every drop of shed blood suddenly seems to crawl up the sides of the silver vessel, sinking into the interior until the ground is bare again and Davina places her hands on the rim, incantations morphing into something even more complex.

 _Quod autem resurgant mortui. Sanguis et cinis vivis a mortuis revocare defunctos carnem._

Her words become part of the surroundings themselves, reverberating within the confines of the magic barrier. The girl's voice grows harsh, arms shaking with effort and a telltale stream of blood running from her nose.

There's a rumble in the ground when the last syllable passes over her tongue and the air seems to shift in front of them.

If Caroline didn't know better, she would have passed it off as a vivid hallucination, the image of the ground practically splitting open in front of the witch to materialize a body. A mirage caught in the brilliant flames.

Everything seems to get brighter, drowning out even the fire itself and forcing everyone to shield their eyes. The torches explode into sparks before finally dying out completely. Then, nothing but silence.

Smoke is left in the spell's wake and when it finally fades and she blinks furiously against the dust hanging in the air, there's not three but four figures.

And she witnesses Kol Mikaelson, just as she remembers him, slowly sitting up opposite the witch, bare flesh stark against the marble. She sees Davina's expression changing from relieved to confused to suspicious over the newborn vampire's shoulder.

Hears her words, hesitant in the sudden stillness, like she doesn't quite recognize the person that's emerged in front of her.

"Kol?"

She can't see the youngest Originals' face from where they're standing but she doesn't need to. She's already up against the barrier again, flesh rebelling against the magic that's keeping her out, shouting at Vincent to lower the damn thing.

But it's too late because next thing she knows, the vampire has launched forward, burying the witch underneath him as his teeth find her throat.


	19. We are the demons lurking in shadow

**19.** **We are the demons lurking in shadow**

What Vincent does is stretch out a hand towards the resurrected vampire, inflicting the worst possible kind of skull-splitting headache he can. He gets an instant reaction. Kol snarls in response to the pain, hands dropping Davina to fasten around his head instead.

Josh is back to yelling something but it rushes right past her. She's too caught up in staring at the young witch who's suddenly lying in the destruction of her own making, painted in freshly spilled red. This time, it's hers.

Caroline sees the way the girl's chest starts to stutter as blood gushes through her fingers, no matter how hard she presses against the wound. Notes how she struggles to sit up and fails as her arms give out.

She was already weakened by the ritual, this is not helping. There's a real possibility that they are going to lose her if they don't get through the barrier.

"Take it down," she shouts at the dark-skinned witch one more time, even though it's obvious he's already got his hands full keeping the Mikaelson at bay, "Now!"

The man throws a glance their way, his concentration wavering. His fingers are already trembling with the exertion of keeping the ancient vampire's synapses from functioning. She knows it's a risk to break the connection even for a moment but from where she's standing, three against one is still better on the odds than what he's doing right now.

Kol may be an Original but he's just come back from the dead and is obviously starving. He'll be uncontrolled, disoriented and if he hasn't had his fill yet, they might just stand a chance.

And those seconds it'll take Vincent to break the spell that's keeping them out might already be more than Davina has. She needs vampire blood, fast. He seems to be realizing that as well, judging by his frantic look over at the girl's fading signs of life.

There's an evident struggle within as he makes his decision. Then, with one sweeping gesture, he breaks the hold on the vampire and raises his arm to point at the invisible wall between them.

A string of rapid murmurs passes over his lips and the air between them shimmers as the magic is stripped away. She prays it's fast enough because she can see Kol recover from the corner of her eye, his attention diverted from his prey to the source of attack.

She feels the resistance vanish in the exact moment that the vampire lunges forward.

It's Vincent's turn to go tumbling down. The Original smashes him against the nearest tomb, crushing the man's throat in his hand. His resounding shout of pain is instantly reduced to a rasp and he is choked, trachea caving under the hold.

But at this point, Caroline is already jumping straight into the fight. She doesn't look back to check if Josh is sprinting to Davina's side. She's sure that's his first instinct and it saves her from having to give the obvious instructions.

From what she's seeing, it's evident there's no reasoning with the Original at this point. She's a bit afraid that he left his sanity somewhere in that purgatory he was pulled back from. Looks like this will have to be done the hard way.

Good thing he's so absorbed in burying his fangs in the other witch's neck that he doesn't seem to take note of her coming up behind him. At least until her hands are almost at the level of his head, poised to twist his spine past the breaking point.

He has her wrists in a steel grip faster than she can blink, all but pulverizing the muscles with the force. She has no idea how he turned around so fast with such short notice, leaving Vincent to slide down against the marble. She's not prepared for this reaction.

There's zero recognition in the vampire's face, nothing but raw, feral hunger. He has no idea who she is, probably doesn't even care whether she's vampire, witch or human. Everything in his body language calls for bloodshed.

In her surprise, she must have paused a second too long because next thing she knows, he's got her slammed against the very surface he just held the witch against, arms pulled so far over her head that her shoulders scream in protest.

Her yell is amplified when he twists the limbs in his grasp and she sees stars. The rush of agony tells her that's definitely a dislocated shoulder right there. This really isn't going well.

She's about to try kicking his legs out from under him when the grip loosens again, Kol nearly collapsing against her.

Stumbling under the sudden change in position, she just manages to register that his free hand fists back into his hair. Based on how his eyes squeeze shut and a low groan escapes his lips it looks like the witch somewhere on the ground is still up for more aneurisms.

Luck is still on her side.

She thrashes under his weight, reminded of when Marcel had her in a very similar position a few days ago. What did she do then? Oh right, she got rescued by Klaus and Elijah. She grits her teeth at the realization, knowing she's on her own this time.

Never mind that she was injected with heaps of vervain earlier and hasn't fed since then, she needs to be confident enough if she's going to take him. She might not have an appropriate weapon to kill the guy but she can sure as hell knock him out for a while.

All she needs is to land a good hit.

So she uses the lapse in assault to push him back, bringing around her good arm to catch him under the chin. The blow lands true in the spot she was going for. His head snaps back, an audible break of something solid echoing in her ears and she can feel the satisfaction run all the way up through her stinging knuckles.

But in the next moment, it becomes clear that it wasn't enough. However he's doing it, he's still conscious after taking the hit and simply cracks his neck right back into place. His earlier sound of pain morphs to one of anger.

Damn it, she needs to do better than that.

But while she's getting her mental plan of attack back together, his eyes snap open again, black and red bleeding together in fury. Vincent's strength must be ebbing away if he can't keep a hold on him anymore.

She's too late in realizing that this has spiralled out of her control already. She's running out of options, there's no back up that the witch can give her and she had her one chance and missed it.

Kol uses her indecision to send her flying back against the wall again, bone grating at the impact. Her eyes water in response to the burn that flares up in her injured shoulder joint and then he's on her again, a hand fisted in her hair to knock her head against the stone.

Between stars erupting across her vision and snarling her frustration, she brings one leg up between them to dislodge him, going for where it's going to hurt most. She underestimated this, he's way too fast and strong for her and there's no other option but to fight dirty.

Only she never saw his other hand punching through her chest in that very moment.

Her outcry is cut short, leaving her wheezing just like Vincent as her body reacts to the trauma. The countermove falls short of its target because she can't help but curl in on herself, trying to ease the unexpected stab of pain.

There are fingers pressing against her heart, sheer agony radiating out from the wound. Her pulse picks up tempo and thumps painfully against his grip.

All she can process is how there is suddenly a goddamn _hand_ grasping her most vital organ.

It's surreal to feel things in such minute detail but in that moment, she can virtually see her blood rushing into all the wrong places from the ruptured arteries. There's broken bone fragments biting into sensitive tissue around her ribcage and muscle snapping apart, all adding to the understanding that she could be dead any second now.

She can feel the Original's own heartbeat through his fingertips, in direct contact with her insides. Only his is beating hard with the force of his bloodlust while hers is rapidly escalating in panic.

She can't think straight, can't come up with any way to get out of this situation. It's feels plain _wrong_ to have this barrage of sensations, so invasive and vulnerable and above all, she's absolutely terrified.

She's going to lose her heart for protecting strangers. She's going to die at the whim of a person that she is partly responsible for bringing back. She'll leave this world as a pile of desiccated flesh and bones without having accomplished everything she wanted.

Most of all, she hates that his unhinged gaze is the last thing she'll probably see. She tries to open her mouth, at least press out one final insult despite the lung he ruptured with his invasion of her chest.

But that's when his grip within her suddenly goes slack.

Before she can add anything else to her list of regrets at dying too soon, the Original's legs give out completely. He slumps into her for a second time with all his weight and she finds herself being dragged down along with his limp body.

What the hell is happening here?

Caroline barely dares to move against the marble at her back but when she feels the ground under her, she takes a hesitant, rattling breath. Breathe, keep breathing. Stay alive. He doesn't react, a dead weight in her lap.

The more her head clears from the rush of fear, the more obvious it becomes that his neck is lolling at an odd angle. She realizes his breath has stopped and finally makes the connection: someone just did her the favour of snapping the Mikaelson's neck.

It's seriously like she never fully understood the exhilaration of being alive until now. This relief is a sweeter rush than any blood she's ever tasted.

That was more of a close call than she planned to have at any moment in her immortal days. She'll be damned before she goes for a repeat of this scenario.

As soon as she's certain he's nowhere close to conscious, she slowly heaves him off. The slick sound of his arm pulling out of her chest is equal parts disgusting and blissful. She's still here, still with a more-or-less functioning undead body and her heart where it needs to be.

Whoever just came to her aid, she wants to give that person a crushing hug right now.

Although she has no idea what is going on, it means she lives another day and she'll take what she can get right now. Save for the ruined dress, she'll be healed up soon enough.

Slumped against the tomb, she turns her head to look at the vampire lying beside her; his youthful features back to human and entirely blank. Maybe it's the knowledge that she just narrowly escaped her demise but she can't help laughing at the absurdity of it.

Had this been any other circumstance, she might have appreciated the scenario of an attractive, stark-naked Original draped over her. Too bad he's even more volatile than she remembers and just attempted to murder her. Kills the charm just a little.

She focuses on catching her breath, willing the broken tissues to reconnect.

Letting her head drop back against the stone, she stares at the overcast sky while she's busy wincing at the burn all throughout her body. At least the sensation means it's knitting the most disastrous of injuries back together, letting her inhale normally.

Any longer and he probably would have succeeded in killing her right here on the cemetery ground. What a way to go, a far cry from the plans she once had to die in her sleep with ten grandchildren at her bedside or something.

The longer she's lying in her spot, the more the need to know who just saved her skin tugs at her. She struggles to sit up properly. Her dislocated shoulder snaps back into place as she puts pressure on it and she has to breathe out harshly at the fresh wave of pain.

As much as it re-ignites the desire to throttle the youngest Original, she's not eager to wake him up so she clenches her jaw and tries to focus on what's happening around her.

There's Vincent a few paces to her right, barely standing upright again but definitely still alive and kicking. Thank God he was conscious enough to give the vampire another splitting headache just now. It bought her a few moments and she supposes she owes him for that.

But her mood is instantly dampened again when she sees who's shown up beside him.

It's Marcel who is holding out a bleeding wrist, letting the witch take a few reluctant but necessary gulps to heal up the damage Kol did.

He doesn't look her way but it doesn't take a genius to connect the dots. There aren't many people around here with the skill to sneak up on the Original and snap his neck while he was busy taking her apart.

Her least favourite vampire in this city just did exactly what she managed to mess up the first time. And he saved her ass in the process. Great, how exactly is she going to justify giving him a piece of mind for the kidnapping after this?

When Vincent waves the broad vampire off and the man instantly flashes over to join Josh in kneeling beside the younger witch, she takes the opportunity to also pull herself up. Back on her feet, she touches a hesitant hand to her chest.

Newly mended skin is already covering the wound, even though her fingers still come away blood-smeared. She can deal with that later. Her mind is moving at double speed again, taking note of the more pressing issues. Her I-just-got-dragged-through-the-dirt appearance isn't a priority.

"We need to get him tied up or do something to keep him down," she calls to Vincent, pointing at the man beside her feet, "Do you have anything around here?"

He looks a bit disoriented for a few moments but she'll put that down to fact that he probably had his head cracked open against the tomb just now. Then he seems to comprehend what she's asking, nods and turns on his heel to disappear between the mausoleums.

Caroline stays beside the youngest Original. She crouches to examine his face for any signs of waking and absentmindedly notes that they should probably get the guy some pants too. It'll be a challenge to get him through the city in the nude like this without raising questions.

Although really, she's not sure what she expected to happen with this ritual. It's not like she's ever seen anyone get resurrected but it kind of figures that people aren't reborn fully clothed.

Coming back from the dead like this hopefully doesn't also mean losing all lucidity because Kol's behaviour really doesn't bode well for the spell's success. As always, all evidence points to the fact that she should have listened to Bonnie.

Vincent drags her out of her thoughts when he reappears with several lengths of rope. She quickly suppresses the urge to ask why they have this stuff lying around in a cemetery and helps him fabricate some knots around the vampire's arms and legs.

Then the witch unearths a vial from his pocket and empties the clear contents onto the binds. From the distinct smell of burnt skin, she gathers that its distilled vervain and quickly steps back. He's right to take precautions though, better safe than sorry.

Kol remains passed out as they both pause to survey their handiwork.

"So," she notes, dusting her hands off, "That went well."

What a way to sum up this disaster. She supposes she deserves the sidelong look he gives her at the blatant sarcasm, dark eyes narrowing with his frown.

"I trusted her when she said she looked into the spell. I know that this kind of magic ain't foolproof but she was convinced it would bring him back in the same body he died in. Looks like we bet on the wrong horse."

She's not quite following. "What does that mean?"

"He was born as a witch a thousand years ago and he died in the body of one, so he should have been resurrected in that form," he explains, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of defeat, "Turns out we brought back another crazy bloodsucker."

She decides she's not even going to ask about how the Original managed to come back as a witch somewhere along the line after being staked by the Gilberts. It would explain Davina's look of confusion when he appeared in the body that they all met him in back in Mystic Falls.

"Yeah, well, I learned to be careful what I wish for when it comes to magic," she shrugs, turning away, "I guess what matters right now is that she's going to be okay."

At her words, the dark-skinned witch also shifts his gaze to the trio inside the circle of extinguished torches. The men are supporting Davina as she pushes herself up from the floor, hand still pressed compulsively against her throat. Seems like she hasn't quite registered yet that she's been healed.

"She'll make it through," he surmises but the worry in his tone tells another story. They're not just talking about the physical injuries here.

From their spot, it looks like the girl is in the midst of hyperventilating with shock and even as Josh pulls her in for a gentle hug, those doe eyes immediately dart over his shoulder to focus on Kol's limp form.

Caroline can guess what she sees there. His betrayal. Her failure. Crushed hopes. The question of whether he is even the person she remembers. If all this was worth doing what she did.

She doesn't say any of it out loud though, leaves Vincent's words hanging between them.

That's when her gaze moves onto the other two forms still passed out on the ground and she remembers that she came here out of concern that wasn't just for the little witch. The two Mikaelsons haven't moved since the whole fiasco started.

In a heartbeat she's beside Klaus again, pressing fingers to his wrist. The pulse is definitely there but it's slow, signalling his lack of consciousness and the wound on his other arm hasn't quite closed yet. Weird. Not normal.

The colour of his skin also has a suspicious pallor, the kind of sickly pale that one would expect on a corpse. That definitely isn't normal.

"And what about him?" she snaps at the male witch over her shoulder, "What did you do?"

She hears the answering sigh behind her. Vincent obviously doesn't want to spill any details but seeing as she just saved his life as well, he'd better not hold out on any information here.

"We had to keep him down until the spell worked," he explains, coming closer, "We knew that he wouldn't come voluntarily after everything, even if we told him his sibling was involved, and I couldn't risk him waking up in the middle of this. He would've killed Davina in a second. So I used a concoction that was enough to knock him out for a few hours."

That doesn't sound pleasant, especially since they're talking about a hybrid here. She thought he was immune to practically everything. "What, a ton of vervain and wolfsbane?"

"In parts," the man supplies as he comes to stand beside her and she doesn't miss the way he meets Marcel's eye before he answers, "Mainly Jimson Weed."

"Never heard of it."

The witch doesn't look surprised but she's too fed up, nerves too overloaded in the last few minutes to actually be offended.

"Poisonous local herb. That stuff knocks anything supernatural right out and it's a serious hallucinogen. Absolutely lethal to humans so it was a staple for assassinations in the middle ages. Guy like Klaus though, it'll probably be out of his system by sunset."

She's a little torn between being impressed at the effort that went into orchestrating this whole thing or flat out angry at the witch for being so blasé about it. Not that she isn't aware of how dangerous Klaus is and that there aren't all that many ways to do something like this with him conscious.

Being mad about it now won't improve the situation anyway. What's done is done. One thing is clear though; they should all get the hell out of here before Klaus recovers and his inevitable wrath is turned against everyone he sees on site. Not to mention Kol coming round and continuing his crazy trip.

She gets up again and nods to the last person that's unaccounted for.

"And Freya?"

Vincent manages to look somewhat ashamed on that account, evidently not comfortable with doing this to a fellow witch. He is saved from answering though because Marcel rises from where he's been supporting Davina and she swears she can also see some unease cross his face.

"Found her partying it up last night. No idea how many tequilas she had but it was enough to make her careless. I didn't want to knock her out like this but she's a powerful girl and you don't want to get on her bad side. There wasn't much of a choice 'cause the second I mentioned Davina's plan, she was walking out on me. Vincent gave her something to keep her sleeping until we got this over with."

She doesn't voice that it's pretty likely someone is already out looking for the witch if she's been gone without a trace since last night. Totally not suspicious, especially when it comes to this family of control freaks.

She wonders if Elijah has already noticed that none of his siblings have been in contact since the morning.

While Marcel speaks, Josh helps Davina to her feet and manages to smile Caroline's way. It's a silent, secret exchange of gratitude. If it weren't for her, his friend would probably be dead and out of everyone here, he's the only one that hasn't fallen out of her good graces so far.

He might be a friend to these people who've done nothing but cause her all kinds of annoyance but he's a good guy. She needs someone like him right now.

Since this whole situation has gone too far to even start a round of apologies that probably nobody will truly mean, she goes right over to what she does best - giving instructions.

"Well, before this can get any worse than it already is, we need to get everyone out of here. If these three wake up now, Klaus is probably going to try to murder each of you when he finds out what happened, I'm betting Freya is just as good at holding grudges as the rest of this family and Kol…" she stops, giving the young Reagent a pointed look, "I think the smartest idea is to let his siblings handle him first before you figure things out."

"I don't understand. It's like he didn't even recognize me," the girl murmurs, the shock of near death at the hands of someone she trusted still visible on her face, "It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

"We'll figure it out," the quirky vampire beside her is quick to jump in with consolation, a protective arm wrapped around her, "We always do. But you need to get your strength back first, okay? No more resurrections until this has blown over. Or ever, if you ask me. I really don't need to see this happening again."

"He's right," Vincent agrees, "The covens don't know about this yet and I think we'd better keep it that way for now. We gotta get the evidence out of here until we know what went wrong."

"Good," Caroline jumps in again, addressing her newfound ally, "Josh, can you get a car in here? We should take them back to the compound and I'm pretty sure dragging three unconscious people through the Quarter isn't the best idea. Anyway, Kol will be toast if the sun comes back out on the way and after all this, I'm sure nobody wants that."

"Yeah, no problem," he's quick to nod his consent, obviously eager to get the vampires out of instant-murder range as soon as possible.

"And you," she rounds on the other two men, "I'm going to overlook that whole abduction stunt you pulled because all of this probably means a whole bunch of problems for all of us anyway. But I want an antidote to whatever the hell you gave both of them."

"You think you can just make demands here?" the bulky vampire scoffs, his displeasure at receiving instructions from her all too visible.

She crosses her arms."It's going to be bad enough explaining this mess when they're both coming down from whatever stuff you gave them. So unless you're volunteering for the job, yeah, I think I can."

"Nobody asked you to get involved here."

She's just about ready to start a real argument with him when Davina intervenes, resting a placating hand on the vampire's arm. There's still a bit of a tremble in her bloodstained fingers but the girl's strength of will is showing through again. At least one other person here who can see the sense in what she's saying.

"Marcel, stop. If she hadn't showed up with Josh before you came, I might not even be alive right now. Neither would Vincent. She's not the enemy. So just … make peace, okay?"

She can almost hear the man's teeth grinding but the witch's eyes are nothing if not beseeching, her bedraggled state only emphasizing that this really isn't the time or place for more disputes. So when he finally breaks their staring match and runs a hand over his face, it's obvious Davina has won this one.

He shifts his eyes back to her and gives a grudging nod to her request. She accepts it for what it is, knowing it's still a far cry from any semblance of trust. At least she's not going to have to drag this out by fighting him every step of the way.

Vincent clears his throat in the silence. "I'll take care of it. Someone will get the antidotes to you."

"What about the body?" she asks, not quite bringing herself to look at the person that she knows is still spread-eagled on the altar next to them.

"He'll wake up soon enough," Marcel glances over to check on the man, "I fed him my blood when we brought him here."

She blinks in surprise. Of course, that's probably why he was interested in this ritual in the first place, when it seemed he wouldn't be getting anything out of it as a vampire. But apparently he won't have the young witch, whom he obviously cares for, murdering someone in cold blood.

The perfect way to make sure the ritual works and still spare the person's life, one way or another. Loopholes all around. She feels a slight twinge at being so quick to condemn them for taking a life without regard for the victim. Not that she would wish vampirism on anyone.

"You should probably take him to the loft then. Like she said, it's not going to be too pretty if the guy learns straight-up how well vampire skin and sunshine mix when he wakes up out here," Josh remarks, "Plus, he'll be hungry and as long as we have two witches around…"

"I think we get the point," Caroline cuts in, keeping one eye on the cloudy mass over their heads that keeps shifting but hasn't broken up to let any light through just yet, "Let's get this over with."

Within the next ten minutes, the place looks a little less like the battlefield of a spell gone wrong and they've managed to stow away the Mikaelsons in the back of an old sedan. She doesn't quite want to believe that the beat-up thing on wheels is Josh's choice of personal vehicle but apparently he has a questionable taste in cars.

As long as the thing gets them back to the compound, she's not complaining. She's starting to feel the effects of her fight taking their toll and really craves a blood bag. Not to mention that she'll be the one dealing with all the questions later on when the family wakes up again.

She finds herself alone with Davina on the steps of the altar for a moment, Marcel having just taken off with the dead stranger and Vincent on the phone with someone who can get him the necessary ingredients for the remedies she demanded.

Josh is busy stuffing Kol's bound legs into the trunk and she senses Davina's shoulders tensing at the sight. She doubts its because the girl is worried about the Original's well-being in that hideous car.

"Hey," she tries to assume a comforting voice, even though she's suddenly feeling exhaustion set in too, "Maybe it's normal to react a bit crazy to coming back to life. It's probably a side-effect of returning from, you know, the afterlife or whatever. It'll just take him some time to get back in touch with his memories."

Davina swallows, twisting the stained fabric of her dress sleeves between her fingers, "And what if it's not?"

She's got no answer for that one because if that's not the case, they just resurrected a madman with a taste for blood. They both settle for watching Josh in silence as he slips onto the driver's seat and starts the engine.

She looks over at the girl next to her who still looks desolate, put out by how things turned out today. She remembers being that demoralized once too. When she realized her idealism didn't match the number of times her friends' plans failed, the many losses along the way.

The need to part with some kind of encouragement settles inside her so she adds, "You can only find out. And by the way, the offer still stands: if you want, I can put in a good word for you two."

That has the young witch looking up, initial confusion melting away as she recalls their conversation. It was only a day ago but so much has already changed since then, bringing them to this moment. She manages to sound a little less bleak when she answers.

"Thanks. I think I'll need it."

She nods at the girl one last time before joining the vampire in the car. As he pulls away down the gravel path, she sneaks another look at the two witches in the rear view mirror and is pretty sure she sees Davina crack a small smile.

 **/**

The tricky part is getting the unconscious ones into the house without being noticed immediately.

Klaus and Freya don't pose that much of a problem but the still-naked Kol doesn't exactly help such an inconspicuous operation when they have nowhere to park but the middle of the road.

Come to think of it, she should have asked Vincent for a blanket or something earlier.

She's not familiar with any side entrances, since this place is practically a fortress, so she compromises by making her vampire chauffeur pull up at the main gate and asking him to wait. She knows there is a whole bunch of staff around the compound; it should be easy to find someone to help out.

Barely ten steps into the first hallway she finds, she comes across a slim Asian woman. Human, by the looks of her and although the outfit looks more like elegant business attire than anything else, it seems that she's busy distributing bottles of scotch in the rooms.

She has to suppress a snort at how fitting it is that this family would hire someone who makes sure the over-expensive alcohol is stocked up at all times. She quickly approaches the lady, keeping her voice low as she makes her request.

"Hey, could you help me? I need a blanket. Or at least something that's large and easy to wrap someone in when they're unconscious."

It takes a few seconds of the woman giving her a strange look for her to realize that the question really didn't come out the way she planned. She's about to backtrack and try covering any suspicion with compulsion but then she receives a smile and the gesture that indicates for her to follow.

They step into a room just two doors down and she finds herself caught up in admiring the colour palette of this one. It's more of a cool combination, pale blues and white giving it a bit of a maritime feel. No view of the Quarter but still, she almost likes this one more than her own upstairs.

She completely misses that the woman has ducked into the bathroom because the next thing she knows, there's a very fluffy navy bathrobe being held out to her. As ridiculous as this is, she's glad this place is so conveniently stocked up on stuff like this.

With a quick thanks, she's tiptoeing down the corridor and slips back outside in no time. She doesn't really know why she's trying to be quiet at this point, but she figures as long as she can escape Elijah's questions and inevitable accusations, the better.

If he's around the place, it's just a matter of minutes until he notices their arrival anyway and she wants a moment for herself to process everything before she gets bombarded. Her next stop once they've got the three in their rooms will be the kitchen for some B-negative. At least she hopes that's where they keep it.

For now, she instructs Josh to carry Freya inside and put her in the next-best empty room while she concentrates on shoving Kol's tied-up form into the bathrobe without being too obvious.

Harder said then done within the confines of a trunk and at some point she just gives up, tying a firm knot around the vampire's waist with the cord before heaving him out of the car. Damn it, she's supposed to have super strength, how is it still such a hassle to carry a dead weight?

Josh returns and gives her a thumbs up, indicating the all-clear as she sets upon dragging Kol inside. The other vampire has got the good fortune of being a tall and relatively wide guy so he has no problem throwing Klaus' more lithe frame over his shoulder. She's actually struggling to get a good grip on her load as she drags him along the pavement.

A gaggle of tourists passes by and she absently hears Josh crack a nervous joke about his friends partying too hard early in the day. She just smiles widely at the humans over the roof of the car, instinctively holding her jacket closed over her blood-soaked dress.

When they've moved on, she stoops to pick up the Original again, readjusting her hold.

Screw this, it'll have to be bridal style if she doesn't want her careful bathrobe arrangement from falling right off again. She's really seen enough of him for the day; it's slowly but steadily getting awkward to be handling someone who is unconscious and naked.

They manage to get all the way past the stairs unnoticed and she's about to give her collaborator directions to room she just got the bathrobe from, when a familiar voice has them freezing in their tracks.

Neither of them has to turn to the source to know that they've been caught red-handed by the eldest and currently only conscious sibling here.

"Pray tell, Miss Forbes, what in heaven's name are you two doing?"


	20. To love what you cannot explain

**20\. To love what you cannot explain**

Next to her, Josh deadpans in a low whisper, "You think he'll also buy the drinking story?"

She bites back a smile because that idea is more than futile. Unlike the people outside just now, Elijah would definitely be affronted having his intelligence insulted with that kind of lie.

Biggest giveaway: going for a round of hardcore day drinking wouldn't result in his brother reappearing in the flesh, very much not dead.

From his place at the banister above their heads, the Original appears to be making that connection too as he recognizes the man she's holding. In an instant, he's vanished in front of their eyes and Caroline almost drops Kol when he's suddenly barely a hair's breath away.

For a moment, it looks like she's got the vampire truly speechless. Then his gaze wanders upwards from his brother's face and she's reminded that despite all his elegance and civility, even Elijah has a dangerous side that she wouldn't want to aggravate.

"Explain this," the warning is clear in his voice, eyes resting on each of them in turn.

Josh manages to physically shrink a little under the scrutiny. "It's not what it looks like."

"You mean to say that is not my troublemaking supposedly deceased younger brother who seems to be forcibly restrained with a bathrobe? Or perhaps that Niklaus has voluntarily come to the point where he needs to have his underlings carry him around New Orleans?"

It shouldn't be so hilarious to hear those words coming from his mouth in such a formal tone. She works to suppress the laugh though by adding the one part he has missed.

"Or that your witch sister is passed out down the hall because she got herself knocked out and kidnapped last night?" she points out helpfully, "Nope, that's all happening."

He looks far from pleased at the comment, eyebrows drawing together at the mention of Freya. It occurs to her that it might be a smart idea to tone down the sarcasm. A pissed off Original would just add to the list of inconveniences they already have.

"Do fill me in then as to what I've been missing here," he says with all possible pleasantries, turning the underlying mockery right back on them.

She shifts to draw his attention back to the body hanging over her arms. "Maybe somewhere that's not in the middle of the yard? Your brother isn't exactly a featherweight. And from what we just saw, it's probably better to put him in a place that he can't get out from too soon. I mean, isn't there at least one room that's facing the sun at this time?"

"Great plan, unless you're considering that it will be going down in, like, the next two hours. And pretending all the clouds don't exist," Josh chimes in.

She gives him an eye-roll over her shoulder to make it clear that he's not being helpful.

"We can also chain him up in the creepy basement that I'm sure this house has, I was just going for the more humane treatment first," she retorts, "It's not like we know if he's going to be sane when he wakes up this time. Someone should keep an eye on him anyway."

The Original audibly sighs at their exchange, irked that he is out of the loop in this argument.

"After all this time, I expected you were aware by now that the sun has limited power over us. It will not be directly lethal, as it is to you. However, once I've received a satisfactory explanation, you can be sure all precautions necessary will be taken."

"Fine," she tightens her grip on her cargo again, "Where do you want him?"

He tilts his head towards the stairs in a more than obvious bid for them to follow. As they ascend, he glances over his shoulder again, waving a hand at the vampire behind her.

"Joshua, be so kind to put Niklaus in his room, just at the end of the hallway. I'm sure you'll recognize it, considering you were lying on that floor the other day. Caroline, over here if you would."

He leads her several doors down in the other direction, opening one for her to step through. Under his watchful gaze, she dumps Kol on the double bed as gently as she can. She doubts she'd get brownie points if she were to pay him back for almost getting murdered while he's helpless like this.

He doesn't show any signs of waking when she deposits his head on the pillow. Now that her sunlight logic has apparently failed though, she can only hope the vervain ropes will do a good enough job once he comes to.

Discreetly, she pulls the bathrobe down from where it has hiked up in the motions while Elijah opens the curtains to survey the road below. When she turns back around, the Original has already moved to settle in one of the armchairs beside the window.

From the expectant folding of his hands, she gathers it's her job to break the whole story now. As much as she just wants to get out of here and steal herself a bloodbag from the kitchen, there's no more stalling when it comes to the oldest Mikaelson.

So she adheres when he gestures at the opposite chair and sinks into the upholstery.

"From the beginning," he instructs, not meeting her eye this time but keeping his attention on the motionless body of his brother.

She knows that he's not prone to showing surprise - there's not much that could shock someone over one thousand - but it's not hard to tell that he didn't expect this. It's not every day that you get the privilege of welcoming a family member back from the dead.

"Uh … well, it started yesterday when I was the witches' hostage. Davina came to me with a deal. If I helped her find a way to resurrect him with then she would make sure I could get out of New Orleans safely without people still trying to kill me all over the place once the trade-off happened. So I called Bonnie and she gave me a spell – one that I didn't think Davina would go actually through with by the way. It needed two relatives' blood for the resurrection, so that's where the kidnapping comes in."

"Go on," he switches his focus back to her.

She relays what she knows, adding in the snippets she gleaned from Marcel, Josh and Vincent in the process until it makes up roughly the whole picture of the last few hours. Remembering the offer she made the girl earlier, she does her best to emphasize that the little witch was not the sole one responsible for the mess either.

Once she's explained the ritual, she vaguely skips through battle details, figuring her bloody dress and Kol's spinelessly drooping head already speak for themselves.

She also really doesn't want to go back to that mental image. It comes with an unpleasant reminder of the sensation in her chest.

In between her speaking and gesticulating, Elijah's posture grows increasingly pensive. She's just getting to the one bit of good news that the antidotes for his siblings are in the works, when the Original holds up his hand.

"For what reason did you take it upon yourself to intervene?" he questions her, "You had nothing to gain from stopping the spell, unless one counts preventing Kol from being unleashed on the world again. That would be understandable enough, after the problems he caused you and your friends in Mystic Falls. Still, it sounds as though you freely put yourself in danger. Unnecessary danger. Why?"

That throws her off course. She didn't expect to have her motives questioned and she furrows her brow, unsure of what he's trying to coax out of her.

Is it that much of a novelty for people to do something for others around here without reaping benefits? Sure, she isn't exactly the poster girl for altruism but since she's the one who set this whole thing in motion, it's only logical that she has to carry some responsibility.

And really, looking back on the last years of high school and now college, throwing herself headfirst into the face of unnecessary threats seems to have become her thing. So when the answer breaks out of her, it's nothing but the truth.

"Because it was the right thing to do. It's because of me that she could even try to do the spell. When I agreed to that deal, I was putting myself first and I could also understand that she wanted to bring back someone that she loved but I never thought it meant hurting …"

She trails off mid-sentence when it hits her where's she going with this.

It's not the name of the anonymous man on the altar that's on her lips. Not Davina either, even though she was initially concerned for her, nor Freya, who was probably the last person on her mind until she saw her lying there in the cemetery.

Only one.

He raises a knowing eyebrow. "My brother, perhaps?"

Caroline shuts her mouth, looking back at him in silence. He's put it out there, the truth that she managed to push aside earlier in favour of making sure everyone was okay.

She went after them in the first place because she was scared for Klaus. It's that simple.

She was irrationally afraid for the one person who is practically untouchable, the one she knows that's closest to being immortal and yet … she _cares._ Too much to not worry, even if she refuses to admit it in front of others.

Maybe it's because today was one of the few times she saw him caught off guard, open to attack. Or it's gratitude that triggered the desire to repay him for taking care of her these past few days. But beneath all that, she knows it's because she just felt she hadto. Like it was the most natural thing to be concerned.

Caroline breaks eye contact, determined to hide that he's unsettled her with his observations. Feigning detachment is probably useless but it helps delude herself that he hasn't noticed her little revelation.

Elijah simply nods, more to himself than anything, but thankfully leaves it at that.

In her lack of an answer, she's given him what he needs to know - confirmation that her actions weren't part of a plan but purely instinctive, fuelled by emotion. The oldest Original has seen right through the act, despite barely having interacted with her since she arrived.

Damn it, the man is observant. Or she's become too obvious. So much for that argument she used only days ago that the world doesn't revolve around this family. But when did hers start moving into place with Klaus at the centre?

It would be a convenient truth to blame her process of adjusting back to humanity, the confusion making her feelings change or whatever. In reality, he was never entirely gone from her thoughts. Even when all that stayed behind was a memory hanging on a tree in the depths of the woods.

As her silence continues, Elijah rises from his seat to move back across the room and hovers beside the bed.

"We will have to find a way to wake Freya," he says gamely, as though there was never a lapse in their conversation, "I can enter his consciousness to a degree but she will know far more about healing his mind if the state as you described still persists."

She clears her throat; glad to move away from the touchy topic. Wrapped up in her answer, she completely misses the fact that he just smoothly switched to the plural as though she's actually part of the team here.

"Vincent promised antidotes for them. He said they'll be brought here. I'm guessing he offered them in return for not getting his head ripped off by any of you."

In the profile that's visible to her, she sees the corner of his mouth lift. Probably bemused by the idea that the witches think they have any negotiating power now that he has his siblings back with him. From his point of view, it's clear they have little to bargain with.

"I'll take it under consideration. Seeing as they brought back one of us, I may be willing to accept a life for a life."

She refrains from mentioning that Kol was supposed to return a witch instead of a vampire. That he technically wasn't supposed to be part of this family anymore, at least not in terms of species. But she keeps her mouth shut on that, figuring it's self-explanatory.

If Elijah wants more details, he can always interrogate one of the culprits.

"Yeah, I'm sure family reunions are exactly what they had in mind," she mutters, pressing her fingers into the leather arms of the chair.

He picks up on her thinking aloud, of course. Stupid Original vampire hearing abilities.

"It seems to be the nature of this city that plans have a way of going awry, particularly when complex spells are involved. Perhaps you could contact Ms. Bennett once more to inquire about the origins of this magic?"

That's just about the last thing she wants to do, seeing as she's already had to involve her friend far too much. But she's saved from coming up with an excuse when Josh makes an appearance.

He pokes his head inside, triumphantly holding up two small vials.

"Someone came by with these just now," he announces, "Apparently the nasty green stuff is tailored for hybrids and Freya needs the one that looks like straight-up bayou moonshine. She said both kick in pretty fast so all we have to do is get them to drink. There was also something about what the ingredients are but I didn't really get to take notes."

For the witches' sake, she's glad Vincent came through on his promise. At least it shows that there's goodwill on their side. Before she can say anything though, Elijah commandeers the new development by taking the vessels from the younger vampire and examining both liquids with interest.

"Did you know the person?" he inquires.

"No, but she looked like one of those ladies who sell talismans and herbal stuff in Jackson Square or something. She couldn't wait to get out of here again."

"Just a messenger then," the Original notes, "I do hope you've paid close attention to her instructions. I would truly hate for you to have gotten these mixed up and cause either of them more suffering."

The underlying threat is not even close to veiled and she has to bite back a smile when Josh formulates a reply that is clearly supposed to reassure himself more than anyone else. Elijah, in turn, instructs him to keep Kol supervised for a moment and holds out the darker tonic towards her.

"I trust you'll ensure Niklaus receives this while I see to Freya?" he asks, although they both know it's not a question.

Joining them in the doorway, she closes her fingers around the object, "Sure."

Looks like she actually earned herself some trust here, if he's giving her the job of making sure his brother recovers. So much for having a spare moment to head down to the kitchen and replenish on some B positive or whatever they've got in store. It will have to wait.

"Hey, why do I have to babysit the crazy guy?" Josh calls after them but the eldest Original simply closes the door on the question, politely indicating that he does not have a say in this.

She feels a little sorry for her newfound ally, seeing as this family has pushed him around non-stop since she came here. Tortured by Klaus, now forced to play minion to Elijah. Even she bossed him around earlier with at least two or three threats included.

She makes a mental note to buy him an apology dinner sometime.

The hallway is deserted when she walks down to the other end; the vampire already disappeared from behind her. She can pick up his footfalls downstairs for a few more seconds before they fade into the depths of the house.

She pauses in front of the door that's become so familiar to her, weighing the vial in her hand. Wondering if it was the right decision to trust Vincent. He might have said that the poison he administered wouldn't be enough to kill a hybrid but she's not convinced.

This had better work.

Klaus is lying on the bed just like his brother several rooms away. His breathing is still shallow and eyes are shifting restlessly under the lids. Maybe it's just her imagination, but she thinks at least the heartbeat has picked up again and he's not ghastly white anymore.

Still, she carefully sits on the side of the mattress and uncorks the bottle. The smell is not as terrible as the look of it but from her experience, the more disgusting medicine appears, the better it generally works. At least that was the rule for the cough syrup her mom always used, which she totally hated.

Leaning over, she lifts his head up a little and tries not to draw back at the intense heat of his skin. Despite looking literally like he's on the brink of death, he's burning up.

Based on her minimal medical knowledge from that biology lecture last semester, that's a good sign - the body increases temperature to kill foreign bodies or something like that. Not that she has any idea whether human healing processes can apply to hybrid physiology.

Either way, she manages to tip the fluid into his mouth and although he isn't responsive enough to swallow, she keeps his head tilted until she's sure at least some of his has gone down his throat. Then, she slowly releases his weight back onto the bed.

For the longest time, nothing happens.

She watches him; close enough to see that there is exactly zero change aside from him growing even more still than before. Minutes tick by and with their passing, the knot of anxiety in her stomach grows tighter and tighter.

What if the witch turned on their agreement after all? What if she just gave him another double shot of the poison instead of something with healing properties? It's totally possible that this was a mistake and she could have just made everything worse.

She starts pacing out of pure inability to do anything else, marching back and forth along the end of the bed. Useless motions that make her feel like a captive animal but she doesn't know how to stop herself. Never mind that her rational side knows it's ridiculous to be this concerned, she can't help it.

At least another three minutes pass and they feel like a goddamn eternity to her before the first sign of life flares up again.

There's a twitch of his fingers and she instantly halts in her movements. All but rooted to the ground, she finds herself transfixed at the sight of him stirring on the covers. Hands compulsively tensing and relaxing, incomprehensible murmurs escaping his lips.

Then the coughing starts and she's back on the edge of the bed immediately. He sucks in one gasp of air after the other, like a man starved for oxygen and it occurs to her that she should help him up so he doesn't choke on the liquid she fed him.

The moment she wants to put that thought into action though, his eyes fly open. They're reddened, disoriented, hungry and she feels a flash of fear shoot through her body at the idea that he might lash out blindly just like his younger brother did.

But in the moments that follow, he focuses on her where she's braced beside him, only centimetres away. His breathing slowly grows more regular and with it, ever so gradually, the black veins recede from his face until the vibrant blue of his irises returns.

She can't look away from the transformation, is unable to even move a muscle under that dazzling gaze. He's looking at her, wide-eyed and awed, like he's seeing her for the first time. Or like he doesn't trust the vision of her actually sitting there, waiting for him to wake up.

For the second time within the hour, the wave of relief crashes through her system. It leaves her stunned and she whispers his name into the quiet that follows, seeking a sign that he's really him, really awake.

He's a step ahead of her though, attention slipping down from her face to the rest of her. His forehead creases when it comes to rest on her mid-section and she follows his gaze down, momentarily forgetting that the evidence of her fight is still all over her chest.

In the hand that he raises towards her, carefully pushing the jacket aside to expose more of the blood-soaked, ragged front of her dress, it's obvious that he's very aware of who they both are. Nobody touches someone that devoutly without knowing them.

"Who … did this?" are his first words, syllables rasping along his dry throat.

She has to blink a few times at the question, in disbelief that he just woke up and picked up on so many things within the frame of a few seconds. The fact that she got hurt by someone, the fact that he's angry about that, the fact that he instantly knows what he does to those who hurt anyone he's attached to. That he _wants_ to be taking revenge for her.

As flattering as the knowledge is, she reminds herself that there are more important things at hand that need to be dealt with first.

Now that the strain has been lifted off her and she's almost sure that he's going to make it through, she can think a little clearer. Considering he's only been passed out for a couple of hours, he's missed a lot.

"You should probably feed before we start on the details," she tells him, gently taking hold of his arm to remove it from her jacket lapel, "You've been poisoned so you'll need a few minutes. Just relax for a second and I can go find some blood bags."

He doesn't seem to be taking much of that in and doesn't think to budge. When she tries to ease him off, he winds his fingers around her wrist instead and raises himself up onto his other elbow.

His grip is surprisingly strong and she stops resisting when he pulls her closer, pupils still dilated. She guesses it's a side effect of the antidote because the intensity of that look is almost unnerving.

"I saw…" he tries speaking again, keeping his eyes firmly on her, "I watched you die."

It dawns on her then what is going on, what must have been happening in his head while he was under the influence of the poisonous mixture. The reason he's been staring at her as though he's not sure of her being more than a mirage at his bedside.

Vincent mentioned something about hallucinations but he never specified whether that included a Woodstock-style LSD trip or the kind that falls into the category of way-too-real-to-tell-the-difference nightmare.

Apparently Klaus got a full dose of the latter version.

She doesn't quite know what to say because she really wasn't prepared to hear this. To read between the lines that she's the person that occupied his mind while he was in the clutches of delirium.

Not his family, not even his child. Her.

It's shocking to realize that what she really wants at this moment is to take that pain away from him. She's angry he had to go through that even though he is by far no stranger to inflicting horrors on others. But there's something in his stricken expression that just makes her want to drop all resistance and hold him, to push the terrible images away even when they aren't real.

She meets his gaze in that breathless silence until she manages to find her voice again. Instinct guides her free hand to his face, brushing the pads of her fingers along his skin to make sure he can feel her and knows that she's here. This isn't an illusion.

"I didn't," she assures him, "I'm fine. I promise."

His hand tightens for an instant, pressing against her pulse as though he needs to feel it thumping through him to be sure she's not lying. His mouth opens again, as though to argue with her but after brief hesitation, he retracts his grip. Gives her an almost imperceptible nod of acceptance.

With a long exhale; he lets himself fall back onto the covers. It's obvious that this took him more energy than he would ever admit. She also sits back, needing a moment to regain her wits after what he just revealed.

"I'll get you something, okay?" she offers again.

"No," he objects without missing a beat, the scratch of his voice lessening, "Not yet."

It's her turn to furrow her brow at his reaction. She doesn't understand why he's refusing what he obviously needs most to recover. That's until she feels the warmth of his palm coming to rest on her leg just short of the dress' hem, thumb grazing over her knee.

For a beat, she finds herself on the verge of incredulity. Seriously, he's skipping out on what he actually needs in favour of feeling her up first? That's just all kinds of weird, considering he was incapacitated and thought she was dead not even five minutes ago.

But when she snaps her gaze back up from the point of contact to tell him just that, she finds there's something else in his expression. What she sees there is more of an honest need to understand what's real around him. She's the only person here right now that can connect him to that.

It hits her that this is his unspoken way of asking her to stay for a while, just keeping him company.

So she does, more patient than she thought she could be in her own hunger while he gathers his strength, regaining a little more colour and composure with each minute.

And when Elijah enters the room shortly afterwards, he doesn't move an inch but keeps his hand out in the open as though it's the most natural thing for them. She twists to look at the other Original and sees that Freya is following behind her brother, more gingerly but seemingly healed up.

Despite their previous tensions, her smile towards the witch is genuine this time and the blonde meets her gaze and actually returns it. Although it's likely that she should put that friendliness down to the after effects of whatever Vincent gave her.

"Niklaus," Elijah pronounces, "How convenient that you've also managed to rejoin us."

"Brother," the hybrid dips his head in return.

Upon running an expert eye across his sibling's features, the older vampire addresses his next question to her, "Has he fed yet?"

Caroline shakes her head in response and feels Klaus's fingers dig into her skin momentarily when Elijah asks her to retrieve something from downstairs so that they can have a proper family chat about recent developments.

"The poison did not make me mute or deaf, Elijah," Klaus points out but his brother only smiles benevolently at the irritable tone.

"No, but what it has done is weakened you considerably and I would rather have you at full capacity for what I'm about to tell you. I expect we may have quite the evening in front of us. Caroline, would you mind?"

Sharing a quick look with the hybrid, she slips away from his touch and instantly mourns the loss of his warmth. He doesn't look particularly happy about the disruption either but covers it better, shifting into a more upright position against the headboard.

"I'll let you fill him in on everything then," she states.

"Since the last thing I remember is running into Marcel and then waking up here feeling like I have ten hangovers at once, an explanation would really be much appreciated," Freya agrees, moving to perch on the end of the bed with an expectantly raised eyebrow.

She catches Elijah's gaze on her way out, knowing that she'd rather not trade places with him right now in the face of explaining everything to his siblings. Quietly closing the door behind her, she descends the stairs to search for the kitchen.

It doesn't take her long to locate the right hallway and once she's in the room with its cherry wood cupboards and granite counters, her first stop is the fridge. For a family that technically doesn't need that much human nutrition on a daily basis, they are stocked up incredibly well, especially on baby food.

Basically there's everything except what she's looking for. Groaning, she closes the door again and spins to face the expanse of furniture filling the perimeter of the kitchen. They have to have blood bags here, she's sure of it.

Unless her assumption of a creepy basement around here is correct, then there may just be a blood bank down there. All it takes though is an extensive search through the room and a handful of cookies that she discovers on the way until she's found the concealed mini-fridge beside the sink that holds the blood bags.

While she pours two of them into mugs, she can't resist digging into another bag already. The satisfaction that spreads right through her body is so worth it despite the bland aroma. Whoever came up with chilled blood cocktails in vampire movies had no idea.

On second thought, she retrieves an extra one and then shoves the three cups into the microwave. Josh might not have had to deal with battle wounds or poison today but she figures some kind of token of appreciation is in order.

As she waits for the drinks to heat up, she absentmindedly traces patterns on the spotless counter. Her leg is still tingling where his hand was resting and she wants to berate herself for attributing so much to that touch. It wasn't even anything overly intimate; she shouldn't be craving it back so intensely.

But god, the way he looked at her just now. It makes her reconsider leaving in the morning all over again.

To think that they were more or less in reverse positions a couple of days ago when she was suffocating under the weight of her emotions returning. She understands it better now, part of the reason he wanted her to remain in New Orleans. Turns out it's seriously addictive to feel this _needed_ by someone _._

She knows it's pretty much a one-off for him to be vulnerable enough to need her in the way he did just now and she's not in the right headspace to let herself fall into that.

Maybe it's that conversation she had with Elijah but she reckons it's probably wisest to keep her distance for the time being while they sort out this new situation amongst themselves and deal with their newly returned brother.

Kol's not going to be a piece of cake and it won't be that much longer until he returns to the land of the living, she'd rather not be roped into the drama that is probably going to ensue. She's done her part and really needs to step back for a bit, maybe take a long bath or something. The bathtub has always her favourite place to get some thinking in.

So when she gathers up the steaming mugs and heads back towards the courtyard, she's actually glad when she crosses paths with the lady from earlier. Only this time, there's no sight of a crystal decanter in her hands and it's not a blanket she's trying to find.

"Could you get this to Klaus Mikaelson?" she asks, extending one of the beverages to the woman.

She's not even surprised to receive the exact smile and nod as she did before, despite the fact that there's a mug filled with blood in her hands. This human was probably compelled at some point to agree to any request given by people in this house and not find things like this abnormal. Quite the tactic to guarantee perfect employees.

As soon as she's out of sight, Caroline flashes to the other room upstairs and presses an ear to the door. She can hear only one steady heartbeat inside, meaning the second inhabitant it still unconscious. Or, more precisely in this case, still dead.

There's also the telltale electronic sound of someone playing around on a phone and she has to smile. At least one person in this whole place that functions like her and actually lives in the twenty-first century.

So when she nudges open the door, already extending the mug, she doesn't expect to be met with the sight of Josh on the carpet with his head twisted sideways, blank gaze directed at the opposite wall.

She also doesn't expect Kol to be upright with his bathrobe properly adjusted, fiddling with the phone he snagged or for him to glance up from scrolling through the other vampire's contacts, catch sight of her in the doorway and break into a wicked grin.

"For me? Oh darling, you really didn't have to."


	21. You know I'd never hurt you

**21\. You know I'd never hurt you**

She backs up, uncertain if the fact that he's speaking actual sentences means he's come out of his earlier rage. But Josh's limp body isn't a positive indication.

As he starts coming towards her, she decides the best option is encouraging him to keep talking. She'd rather listen to nonsense than find out what's happening in the vampire's head with another fist between her ribs.

"You know," he twirls the phone in his hand, "I've got to hand it to you, you people are really getting creative here. But did you truly believe that the illusion of modern technology and familiar rooms is going to fool me? If you think that's enough to throw me off, you really haven't been paying attention. I've played your game for months."

The more he speaks, the more she realizes that any hope for sanity was misplaced. He's definitely still mad. Out of everything he could have said, those words give her little to work with. She can't come up with an answer that might make more sense than what he's saying.

He's close enough to snatch the outstretched mug from her hand and tip back its contents in one go. When that doesn't seem to be satisfactory, he tosses the empty one aside and reaches for the second.

She doesn't try to stop him, taking another step back as he drinks her share too.

"Impressive. Now that tastes very real," he notes and chuckles, a mirthless sound that echoes in the space, "You're getting better. Familiar faces, familiar scents … does this mean we've made it to the next stage of my personal torture?"

The porcelain shatters as he drops the mug onto the floor and she holds back a wince at its impact on the hardwood. The Original doesn't even seem to feel the shards under his bare feet when he advances on her again.

Nobody should be able to look that threatening in a robe and yet every part of her is torn in the instinctual battle between fight and flight. Absently, she wonders how the others have not picked up on the noise, considering the rest of the family has yet to show up.

She could yell for back up, obviously, but she senses that would just aggravate him more. This entire scenario feels like she's on a tightrope, ready to lose balance any second now with one wrong move. He's already teetering on that edge.

She thinks she might have liked him better when he was acting like an animal.

Still shifting towards the door, she keeps her eyes trained on Kol, "What are you talking about?"

He bares his teeth but the smile doesn't make it further than his lips. It looks like he's reached the end of his speech, no more distractions at hand. Slowly, she reaches out behind her for the doorknob.

"Enough with the games," he hisses.

Then he's lunging and she only just manages to dodge the hands that attempt to grab her. It makes her lose her vantage position close to the exit as she's forced to flatten against the opposite wall.

"You're insane," she snarls right back at him, flashing away again when he comes down on her position. His hand goes straight through the wall like the brick is nothing but dust. In hindsight, she probably shouldn't have let him take that blood.

He throws the bedside table out of the way, narrowly missing her head as she ducks away. His fangs descend as he continues trying to corner her. Even in his madness, he's still tactician enough to avoid giving her an opening to sprint towards the escape route.

Said door swings back open a moment later, revealing a familiar face in a suit.

"Kol."

It amazes her how Elijah doesn't even raise his voice to command attention and still; his younger brother instantly spins around to face him. From her place beside the armchair, she releases a sigh of exasperation.

Leave it to this family to take their damn time and then make a dramatic entrance.

Kol doesn't seem to care much for chitchat, his eyes reddening at the sight of his sibling. There's a deafening crash as he leaps onto the other vampire, and Elijah doesn't move quite fast enough to block the assault, sending them both tumbling through the doorway. The vibration of floorboards under her feet tells her they've hit the ground outside.

Caroline instantly jumps up to follow, but finds her way blocked this time. Klaus is suddenly right in front of her, placing a hand on her shoulder and preventing her from taking another step to engage in the fight.

Meeting his eye, she's equal parts glad to see him looking more like himself again and annoyed that he's back to commanding her what to do. If it wasn't for the way his fingers ghost along her neck just briefly, a butterfly touch that communicates far more than his words, she might have pushed him aside.

"This is not your fight, love," he tells her, even as there's an audible splinter that indicates the banister has broken. It's followed by the harsh thump of flesh and bones hitting concrete below. He doesn't give any indication of paying attention to it though; awaiting a reaction from her to assure him she won't do anything stupid.

Despite herself, she knows he's right. There's not much she could do to hurt the vampire when he wasn't at full strength and now that he's fed, it won't improve her chances.

She'll be in the way more than she can contribute, even though giving that Original a nice kick in no particular highly sensitive area would probably make her feel better.

So, much like she did in a deserted high school hallway a long time ago, she searches his gaze and nods her understanding. Without another word, he vanishes to leave only cool air in his place.

Remaining where she is, she forces herself to wait as Freya's voice joins the commotion, instructing her brothers to hold Kol down. More snarling reaches her ears, more smashing of unidentifiable objects and then chanting in the same fervent tone the Reagent used while the youngest brother's shouting doubles in volume.

Within the following seconds, there's only heavy breathing and continuous incantations filling the air. She feels her muscles relax ever so slightly as it continues, almost certain they've subdued him.

As she moves to sneak a look outside though, her attention falls to Josh who is still sprawled in her way. Stooping, she grabs him under the shoulders and heaves him onto one of the armchairs; his head falling straight back onto his chest.

Not much consolation for a snapped spine but at least more comfortable to wake up on. She mentally adds a round of drinks to the dinner she plans to buy him.

Then she steps through the doorway and follows the line of destruction past the missing section of banister to the courtyard where Kol is restrained on the ground. His sister is kneeling in front of him with her hands on his temples while Elijah is busy keeping the vampire at bay; a firm hand around his neck.

She spots Klaus crouching on his other side, just out of reach of the commotion. His expression is unreadable as he watches but it's obvious he's ready to move at an instant's notice. From her position, she thinks she can see the wolf in the way he steadies himself on the balls of his feet, the way his eyes rove over the scene without pause.

Under the influence of Freya's magic, the youngest family member gradually stops thrashing until he's motionless and his breathing evens again. Knocked out for the second time within two hours, he's really going for a record.

Elijah slowly removes his grip to straighten up, beckoning the hybrid to his side. They exchange a few words that she can't quite pick up on. Then Klaus separates himself from the others and heads through a door on the far side of the courtyard.

She stays where she, counting her own heartbeats until Elijah turns around and gestures for her to join them, obviously aware that she's been hovering. Sidestepping broken flowerpots and debris, she follows the invitation. By the time she's next to him, he's brushing away the fine layer of dust that has settled on his clothes and somehow still looks poised doing it.

"I think we can all agree that this display confirms your version of events. He's quite beside himself, our brother," he notes, then, on an afterthought, "More so than usual."

She keeps her attention on Freya, who is murmuring fervently under her breath and is apparently unaware of her surroundings. It's impressive, considering she only recovered minutes ago and is already back to using magic. Whatever she's doing looks more complex than the usual mind invasion spell she's come to know.

Caroline crosses her arms, tries to make sense of what just happened.

"He was lucid enough to talk but … I don't know, it's like he thinks this isn't real, like it's all an illusion someone else cooked up and trapped him in."

"It would certainly explain his intention to kill us on sight. Clearly, his second experience of death has done nothing for his sanity. We'll know more when Freya has gotten through," the Original re-buttons his suit jacket casually before changing the subject from the obvious topic at hand, "And I assume there is a body that needs to be disposed of?"

She takes a moment to catch onto what he's suggesting, then shakes her head. "Josh is alive. He'll probably wake up in an hour or something."

The news actually seems to please Elijah – most likely out of convenience than actual worry for the young vampire's wellbeing – and he nods his assent before switching focus back onto the man on the floor.

"In that case, why don't you head upstairs and take some time to recuperate? I'm sure Niklaus will find you when all this is taken care of."

There's something in his tone that tells her it's useless to try and dispute the dismissal. As always, he does a good job packaging his orders into cordial questions like that. But she gets it. Despite what she's done for this family today, this is not the place for her right now - she's seen it often enough with the Salvatores to know when family business calls.

Either way, she couldn't agree more with his suggestion, mind already drifting to the wonderful prospect of soaking in the bathtub without any outside pressures and no new supernatural problems on her plate for the moment. She might as well use the time before something else happens.

"Caroline," he calls after her one more time, when she's already got a foot on the stairs. Looking over her shoulder, she is taken aback to find a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and he graciously dips his head towards her, "Thank you."

It might be the first real form of acknowledgement, no, actual acceptance she's received from him since the beginning of her stay here. Scratch that, probably the first since she's known him. So she doesn't try to hide the smile that stretches across her face in response to his words as she moves on and heads back to the guest room.

Alone for the first time since the morning, she leans on the marble sink to examine the full extent of what happened today. She looks like more of a disaster than she thought, that's for sure. Rumpled and torn clothing, blood-soaked fabric all over her front and curls that are wildly out of control. She's had better days.

Staring at her reflection, she also notes how the emotional rollercoaster attached to the earlier events has taken its toll on her. Her eyes seem a little too large in her face, pupils dilated as though she's still charged with adrenalin despite the threat having passed.

It's not the first time she asks herself what the hell she expected to come out of this. She's in New Orleans, the playground and battlefield of supernatural beings, most of which have a bone to pick with the Originals. It's really no surprise that her stay here has been this bizarre mixture of an outrageous dream and a terrible action movie.

If it wasn't obvious already, it is now. There's no going back for her to the calm before the storm, those days in Mystic Falls where she and her friends danced around the Originals with little understanding of how the world outside their town actually worked, always with the absurd notion that they would somehow manage to come out on top against these ancient beings time and time again.

She knows now they only ever succeeded because this family did not see them as a real threat. There were never any real measures taken against them, not when they almost managed to kill Klaus after the hybrid ritual, not when they helped Esther in her plans to take the siblings down or even when the fight for the cure started and they killed Kol and his entire sire line.

In truth, they all just got lucky.

Here in this city, she can see that the world is harsher and far more dangerous than the bubble they've created for themselves in their cosy little hometown. Sure, danger always had a way of finding its way there too but this is something else entirely.

The Original family is a different kind of breed here. Klaus is different here, following other goals.

Although it is a tempting thought, she honestly wonders how long she would survive if she chose to stay. The hybrid may talk about never hurting her or letting her get hurt but that's just plain unrealistic. If today proves anything, it's that nobody's untouchable.

Her staying will mean consciously putting herself in the crossfire for the sake of her feelings for Klaus. Whatever else is true about their connection, she's not lived her own life enough to go in that direction. Not to mention that the package comes with the rest of the family.

Forcibly pulling away from her mirror image and those musings, she runs the bath she's been craving and tosses in pretty much the whole arrangement of bath salts that she can find in the cupboards. She wants total relaxation here, if only for a few minutes. Peeling out of her clothes, she sinks into the rising foam.

The hot water envelops her like a familiar embrace, taking the remnants of her fight with it. She watches the water tinge pink as she scrubs at her skin and dips her hair into the water, breathing in lavender and honey.

Letting her head sink against the coolness of the tub, she closes her eyes and just drifts for a while. Even though she wants nothing more than to fall into some kind of blank-minded meditation, her thoughts wander back to the hybrid and his reaction to finding her when he woke from his poison-induced sleep.

Maybe she shouldn't be attributing so much to it but after everything they exchanged, all the words that were spoken these last couple of days, it means more to her than she expected.

It hits her much harder than her rational side wants to allow, makes her realise she's flat out lying to herself when trying to reduce their relationship to lust and mutual admiration. It's been more than that even before they clashed in wild abandon that day in the forest.

She could have a place here; he's offered her that enough times now to root that prospect deeply in her subconscious. Moments like the one earlier at his bedside have her seriously considering it.

She has no clue how or when exactly it got to the point that she desires to be close to him, to simply have him around, to feel his eyes on her and want to know what he's thinking.

Groaning at the realisation, she submerges herself under the water's surface, drowning out the world just for a minute. She has several hours left before the flight – the ticket on her nightstand tells her the departure is scheduled for eight in the morning – and she'll have to make up her mind before then.

Staying or leaving. Why does it have to be some damn conflicting to make that choice, aren't the odds already speaking for themselves? Anyway, it's not like she can't drop by for a visit sometime if she decides she wants to see him again.

Maybe it's because she knows that if she leaves, she won't be back for a while. Her life at home will consume her again, one way or another, the usual drama with her friends will ensue; she'll find new obligations at Whitmore or wherever she continues studying. And he'll go back to making good on the vow to never return to Mystic Falls because he always follows through on his promises.

There's really no winning at this. She wishes she could read her own heart better. Looks like having someone else almost tear it from her chest changed her perspective a little.

So caught up in her own head again, she only notices how much time has passed when all bubbles have disappeared and the water has grown from near-scalding to cool around her. She totally lost track, it must have been an hour since she settled into the bath. At least vampire skin doesn't wrinkle in the water the way it used to when she was human.

Stepping out and wrapping herself in a towel, she tries to shake her contemplations. They've led her in a circle, as always when she lets herself fall into the trap of over-thinking every possible outcome of a decision.

But when she opens the bathroom door, fully intent on slipping into those comfortable new sweatpants she got at some point on her road trip, it takes a beat before she realises she's not alone in the room.

The object of her thoughts turns from where he's leaning against the frame of the balcony door. He doesn't seem at all perturbed by the fact that she's only in a towel that barely covers her, fixing his eyes on her face without hesitance.

She swallows back a snarky comment about how him invading her personal space like this is becoming a regular thing. He doesn't look like he's in the mood for jokes.

"Everything okay?" she asks instead.

"Circumstances considered, you might phrase it that way," he answers, breaking eye contact again to run a hand down the flaking paint on the frame, "My resurrected brother seems to have found some kind of mental stability after our sister convinced him that this is, in fact, reality and not another illusory world. It appears the witch ancestors made it their mission to punish him for his deeds after his death. It was our mistake to have him consecrated in good faith that it would ease his return once Rebekah found a way."

"So, what, he thought we were some kind of projections here to torture him?"

Surprisingly enough, there's sympathy rising at the thought that the vampire had to endure months of what Klaus did today under the influence of the toxin. Considering what the younger Original did to them in the time she knew him, it was probably justified torture.

She could put more effort into being bitter about his earlier assault but knowing what mental abuse can be like, she's almost inclined to feel sorry. Almost.

The hybrid is already moving on, unaware of her contemplation. "It seems the afterlife amongst witch ancestors doesn't quite live up to expectation. No matter, he's returned now. But instead of reacquainting himself with family and what he has missed in his time somewhere in hell, Elijah immediately indulged his ridiculous wish to search for the little witch and repent for ripping out her throat."

She has to suppress an indignant snort at the way he phrases that. Seriously, nobody but Klaus could be that annoyed at being made second best to someone that is not direct family.

"You're surprised that he wasn't up for family bonding the moment he woke up? You guys are immortal; you have lots of time to catch up. Also, in case you didn't get that part of the story - Davina resurrected him because she loves him. She took a lot of risks to do that and knew you might kill her for it. She wouldn't have gone through that trouble for just anybody. So yeah, I'd feel bad for trying to murder the one that brought me back from the dead too."

He scoffs at the defence but refrains from ridiculing the couple any further, "He has things to worry about closer to home other than ensuring Davina is safe and sound."

She really doesn't get the underlying threat towards the brother he's just gotten back. Okay, he might be annoyed that the family wasn't the first thing on Kol's agenda after coming back to life but there's something else there, deeper than what sounds like petty jealousy.

She places her hands on her hips. "Oh really? Like what?"

"Making amends for what he did to you."

It's so blunt, so obviously stated, that she doesn't quite know what to do with it. Despite convincing herself she's already pushed that memory aside to be forgotten as soon as possible, her hand rises to flatten over her chest.

A gesture that's close to unconscious but it's a dead giveaway for him. His eyes lower to fix on the spot she's covering, the wound that's already long gone and his expression visibly darkens.

"How much did Elijah tell you?" she asks, skipping the denial.

No use to hide the facts from him anyway. He'll find out one way or another and in the meantime, she'd rather he'd not fabricate more of a story in his head than there actually is.

"The abridged version of events. Enough to make it clear my brother is the one responsible," he all but growls.

The fierce protectiveness is flattering, but she doesn't need it. She's still alive, still in one piece and really, there's nothing more to say on the matter. They've been in this situation before and he should know by now that her grudges don't have the same depth his do.

Either way, she shrugs her indifference and turns away from that look of accusation towards his brother to rummage in her suitcase for something to wear.

"And what are you going to do, dagger him for it? He just came back from being dead," she points out, not even sure why she's coming to Kol's defense, "You had the same situation when you hallucinated. Sure, you couldn't attack anyone while you were passed out but that's pretty much the only difference. He wasn't in his right mind. And anyway, if anyone should be taking anger out on him, it's me."

The silence that follows her declaration is thick with everything she hasn't said, all the words he still wants to hear from her and as she holds up a shirt, considering, she picks up on the rustle of him moving. His presence behind her makes her stop in her motions, feeling his breath breeze over the nape of her neck.

"Do you know how I saw you die?" he questions, fingers drifting down along her side until they find her wrists and loosely curl around them. She barely notices that her grip slackens under his and the shirt falls to the floor.

The total shift in his demeanour throws her off kilter and she shakes her head, not trusting her own voice with the effect that he's having on her right now. Her resolve to stay aloof in this conversation drains away, leaving her waiting for what comes next. This could go a lot of ways and there's an undertone running through his voice that makes her uneasy.

"I was the one that pulled your heart out of your chest. You desiccated in front of me," he reveals and her skin rises in goosebumps that have nothing to do with the mental image he's painting, "And when I woke to find you with the signs of such a wound…"

"You know that wasn't real," she clarifies, even as her chest clenches at the idea.

"Mental projection or not, it could have been," he cuts through her objection, "Marcel could have succeeded. Kol could have succeeded."

She twists around, out of his grasp to face him and finds the distance between them smaller than she expected but for the moment, she can shut that out and prioritise exasperation.

"What are you trying to do, Klaus? Scare me; make me run for the hills? After everything, you do this _now_? Because it's not like I don't know that it was reckless and stupid and dangerous to go after you today. But I did it because I care, okay? I care whether you get hurt because of something I did, I care whether you live or die while I can do something about it and I accepted that things might go wrong. I came after you because it was the right thing to do. That's all my decision."

There's that look of bewilderment on his face again, betraying his marvel at what she's telling him. On some level, he must have known already but apparently spelling out drives the realisation in deeper.

"You came for me," he agrees, looking like he can't quite make the words sound right on his tongue, "And you must promise me to never do that again, Caroline."

Her mouth actually falls open at the request. "What?"

"Despite your resourcefulness, your intelligence and your infallible determination, you are still the more vulnerable one between the two of us. Whatever happens to me, I will not have you meet your end because you were attempting to protect me. Neither from enemies that I have made for myself nor from those that are closest to me."

"You can't…" she starts but he shakes his head, evidently not finished yet.

"No. There's no sense in putting yourself on the line for my sake. I will not live with the knowledge that you got yourself killed for the stubborn purpose of trying to save me. Too many have tried and failed, love."

There are so many responses she wants to throw back at him for that, exasperated ones, angry ones, annoyed ones, hurt ones, even a sharp-edged jibe. The most obvious one perhaps: that a simple thank you for today would have sufficed. That, for once, he should acknowledge that this isn't just about him.

But she knows he would not ask this of her easily, that he's not selfless like this… practically ever. Since it also feels like all the wind has been knocked out of her with that last part, she has to go for a different answer. She simply shakes her head in objection.

"You can't ask me to be with you somewhere down the line and then make that demand," she replies, more calmly than she thought she could, "If you think I'll just agree, you don't know me at all."

That stuns him back into silence and as she searches his eyes, she finds the conflict raging underneath. She's totally aware that their argument will just continue down the same path if she lets him find a response any moment now.

Seeing as she's going to be at the airport heading back to her old life by the time morning comes around and this conversation will probably become obsolete right then, she decides to close the discussion the most effective way she knows how.

"Just stop," she tells him, leaning in.

She captures his lips with her own, fingers coming up to thread through his curls. It's a gentle kiss, one that reaffirms that at the end of the day; neither of them will give in here. And at first contact, she realises that she shouldn't have put this off so much because she was afraid of her own emotional instability.

It's not about not getting another chance to touch him like this once she leaves tomorrow, both their immortality aside. It's about possibly having to make a decision about what she wants them to be the next time they meet, months, years, maybe decades from now.

When he opens his mouth, letting her in and simultaneously burying his hands in her damp strands, it's clear that what she's started has already moved beyond being a distraction. It's turning into pure need, the way he needed her when he woke earlier.

He licks at her lower lip and she responds in kind, free hand running across his stubble as she brings him closer. There's no battle for dominance like there was last time they met in this room, only giving and taking and she tastes him on her tongue, soaks up his warmth.

His thumb follows the line of her jaw, tilting her head up just so that he can break away from her lips and brush his along her neck. The sigh that escapes her is one of release as he sucks on her pulse before continuing his journey; his exhale hot against the shell of her ear.

"Sure about that?" he offers.

It's downright insane how his words send fire rushing through her nerves even though he's barely touching her. Caroline pulls back far enough to meet his eye again, the visible intensity of his desire setting off a million chain reactions under her skin.

Her answer is unspoken but there's no doubt they both feel they've reached an armistice for the time being. He doesn't look away when she reaches out again, bunching the hem of his shirt in her fingers before slowly pulling it upwards.

The second she's got it over his head and drops the Henley behind him with deliberate slowness, he's got her around the waist and guides her back against him. When their mouths meet again, it's fervent and heat instantly flares up between her thighs.

Three blind steps backwards and she's flush against the wall, the ridges of the wallpaper decorating her back with sloping lines. Both hands bury in his hair and his shift to encircle her hips. She kisses him harder, demanding more with each movement.

When her fingers drag along the back of his neck, catching beads of his rosary on the way down, he groans against her. Good, she's really got his attention now. It's her turn to break away from his ministrations and begin her own search down his neck, lips and teeth against skin.

The pressure of her tongue against his collarbone is what wears his patience thin. She finds herself being sped to the bed, shoulders colliding with the mattress before she can even comprehend that her feet have left the ground.

He's standing in front of her, drinking in the sight sprawled across the covers before leaning down across her body. His hand traces a warm line from the base of her throat to the top of her tightly wound towel, finding the knot and easily pulling the cotton edges apart.

Despite having been undressed by him before, she can't help but think how this is a new level of eroticism between them. Their last encounter was all pent-up lust and hidden feelings giving way in the woods. Both of them were unprepared, rushed.

This time around, he's holding out with her and savouring every inch of flesh he's exposing.

The moment he pulls the fabric aside and air rushes across her body, she finds herself inhaling sharply against the sudden exposure. But his hand is back in a moment, following his previous course down through the valley of her breasts to her navel and leaving a burning path in its wake.

His expression he wears is an intoxicating combination of awe and intrigue she can't remember on the face of the other men that had her like this. She can detect complete concentration, as though he's focusing all his attention on what he feels under the fingers that brush against her abdomen.

Then his hand stops just short of where she craves it most and his eyes wander back up to hers. She bites back the moan already rising in her throat when he removes his touch entirely and leans forward again, shifting his weight over her.

She says his name into the quickly diminishing space between them, closing her eyes at the sensation when his skin moulds against hers. And with the sigh that the motion elicits from her, he finds her lips, demonstrating that words really aren't always the best way to win an argument.

Caroline is panting by the time he withdraws to trail back down to her chest and send her arching off the mattress in response. The sudden wet heat against her skin takes her to new heights, the heels of her feet digging into the bed all the harder.

Then his tongue drags across her sensitive flesh, hand wandering down to circle her thigh and she throws any notion of taking this slow out the window. He's definitely still too clothed to call this an even playing field.

Despite the fact that he's doing a stellar job keeping her occupied, she's done waiting. Vampire strength comes in very handy when she fixes a leg around his torso and flips them over, instantly curling forward to settle over his hips.

Her hands fly to his belt, slipping expensive leather through metal with deft movements. She's barely managed to unbutton his pants when he rises up again, pressing against her chest to chest with his mouth dancing along her throat.

She powerless to suppress her groan when the motion sends her slipping further into his lap, against the hard length under his jeans. She's got all the evidence that he's as ready for her as she is for him but there's no escaping the hold on her waist.

But now he's got her thoroughly wound up and when she wants something bad enough, she refuses to take any detours.

Flattening a hand against his chest, she shoves him back down onto the covers and is off him before he can regain his grip, landing back on the ground while she's hooking her fingers through the belt loops to rid him of the fabric.

His pants pile on the floor, along with shoes and socks. He let's her carelessly throw the thousand-something-dollar boots over her shoulder without complaint, watching with an open smirk when she mirrors his earlier action and leans back across him.

The scrape of her knuckles against his boxers, trailing upwards, actually has his breath catching. She bites her lip in delight at the reaction and settles back on his hips, rocking her own against him, very much on purpose.

Arms bracing over his shoulders, she fully revels in the way his eyes narrow as he fights to maintain control over his reactions while she's taunting him. He's steadily losing that battle. It was never her style to leave foreplay one-sided.

He let's the semi-clothed friction go on longer than she dared to hope before growling low in his throat and rolling them sideways, settling between her legs again. She goes with it, using the change in position to find his waistband and pull the material aside, letting him kick it off as he slides back down her body.

Then his mouth finally finds her centre, guiding her leg over his shoulder and she feels like she's on the verge of collapsing at the sensation. Pleasure spikes through her as he circles the one spot that has every nerve igniting.

She's gasping for air she doesn't need, unable to do anything but claw into his back, her head falling back against the blankets. She's close to physically shaking when the tantalising contact disappears and she opens her eyes to find him hovering on one elbow above her, looking positively devilish.

The sensation of loss only lasts for a second though before fingers replace his tongue and this time he watches her response as she writhes under his touch, burying her moans in the covers.

She should have known better than to think she can teach someone with a millennium of experience a lesson in teasing. He's already torn down her resistance once, has claimed her body for himself. He may just know her triggers better than she does herself.

She's way too far beyond hot and bothered to wait much longer. Hooking her legs around his waist, she pulls him down against her. He answers her motion by curling the digits inside her, thumb pressing down hard where she needs it.

Her vision goes hazy, she doesn't try to restrain the sound that escapes her and knows there's no dragging this out. She's too close.

"Klaus," she presses out in a voice she doesn't even recognise as her own.

She's past formulating much of a demand but she doubts it's hard to read what she's asking for by now. She's honestly ready to explode if they don't stop pushing her buttons. From the look he's wearing, he doesn't need to be told twice either.

He draws himself away for a moment before shifting his weight to where's she throbbing with desire, skin on skin but not quite there yet.

"What is it you want, love?" he questions, eyes fixing on hers.

His pupils are equally as blown with craving but centuries have taught him better restraint than she has right now. He doesn't move another inch and she's certain he won't budge before she says it out loud this time.

She's so tightly wound, too far past caring for anything but relief from the anticipation to think about any deeper implications of his question. If she had the composure and a clearer head to consider his words, her answer would surely be the same.

Her fingers wrap back around his arm and she seeks out his lips to press the answer against them. They both already know it.

"This."


	22. Maybe one day you'll let me

**22\. Maybe one day you'll let me**

His response ends in a resonating groan against her tongue when he's finally sheathed inside. God, she had almost forgotten how good it feels.

She's already lightheaded as they pick up a rhythm, instinct taking over. Muscles strain, bodies growing damp and they press impossibly closer into another, becoming a mess of parted lips and twined limbs.

At some point, she finds herself back in his lap with his fingers digging into the muscle under her shoulder blades and her hips circling against his, driving down hard. White-hot pressure is rising in her lower abdomen and she grasps his shoulder in warning.

The inked lines grow tense under her grip and he tangles a hand back in her hair. Tilting her head aside to ravish her throat, he nips at her jaw.

She can't make out what he pants against her neck in rasping tones but in that moment, the combination of every part he's touching, all the overly sensitive points he's causing such insane friction against, sends her tipping over the edge.

Caroline comes undone with trembling legs braced beside his and fangs denting her lower lip. Her moan echoes in her ears and in the midst of that high, his fingers never cease rubbing against her sensitive flesh again and again.

The sensations crash straight through her system, overwhelming her until she's lost all sense of her surroundings. There's a rush in her head and a surreal feeling of vertigo while her nerve endings are still burning.

She manages to open heavy eyes and drowns straight away in the ocean blue that she finds opposite. Her breath comes in irregular gasps but the shaking of her limbs starts to recede as he slows in his movements as well, giving her time.

Bringing up a hand to run it along her lower lip, his gaze visibly darkens while he takes in her vampire features. She can't help but lick at his fingertips when the scent just under the surface of his skin hits her.

They've worked up more than heat between them, it's simply too much of an invitation.

And he doesn't resist it, turning his arm to present her with the familiar web of veins in the wrist. The message couldn't be more obvious. Although this is a whole other dimension when it comes to drinking from him, she finds herself thirsting for it.

It's not desperation this time, no fear or anger involved. She wants to taste the most intrinsic part of Klaus on her tongue right now. She wants there to be no forgetting what they've done, no turning back from here.

She wants to know _him_.

Tearing her eyes away from his gaze, she focuses on the pulsing energy she sees, senses, under her grasp. The thin layer of skin is nothing to her as she leans in and the tips of her fangs pierce through.

She barely registers the sound he makes at the sight of her but she definitely feels how he pushes her onto her back again, driving in deep. She's drunk on her own euphoria and the taste of power that has no match and knows the night of her birthday was absolutely nothing compared to this.

Caroline can only pull away when her abdomen tightens again and doesn't bother masking her moans against his body. With a change in angle, he's pushing her further into the mattress and she drags him to her none too gently, finding his mouth again.

She can only venture to guess what sends him past the breaking point but as he ravages her with a fervour she never imagined being directed at her again, he shudders under her hands. The heat of release that spreads through her core is not just her own and she feels herself coiling further in response.

It's the drag of his own fangs across the swell of her breast, never breaking skin, that sends a fresh surge of vertigo coursing through her. It makes her hold onto him all the harder, needing something to anchor herself as she loses control of her senses once more.

She's not quite sure if she draws blood with the force, still dizzy with the taste of him.

Klaus is breathing just as hard against her when she manages to find reality again, caught between a giddy laugh and a sigh of fulfilment. His lips drift upwards and press against her temple, hovering there until they both come down from the rush and she can feel gravity taking hold again.

The longer she listens to their unnatural heartbeats slowing until they're almost in sync and the more the world comes into focus, she realises she's lost for words. Holy crap. She didn't have this planned but if she's learned anything since coming here, it's that her impulse control around him is a joke.

Staring at the ceiling, she finds her mind is blissfully, absolutely blank. For the moment.

Well, aside from the fact that she's amazed at how her memory from a year ago definitely didn't do this justice. For the first time in a while - hell, the last time might be as far back as the start of college – she feels absolute ease right where she is.

Not quite what she thought she'd feel lying beside Klaus Mikaelson.

And on that note, the tally of Originals she's seen naked today is steadily rising. This isn't at all how she pictured the day going. Not that she's going to start complaining about how this part is turning out.

"I hope you don't think that was the end of our discussion, sweetheart," Klaus notes with a bemused lilt to his voice, tugging gently on a curl, "Although it was a very welcome interlude."

"Seriously? How are you even thinking about that right now?"

She shakes her head in disbelief that he's capable of putting together a coherent thought at all. At least the previous seriousness has dissipated because he grins, appearing to shrug without actually moving.

This close, she gets distracted by the vibrancy of his eyes again, the lazy tilt of his lips as he speaks. Seriously, it's not at all regular vampire libido that the sight instantly makes her want to take him again after how they just went at each other.

Too bad he seems intent on returning to the subject she wanted to ditch.

"This isn't going to make me change my answer," she reminds him, rolling onto her stomach to prop her head up on her hand, "You didn't manage to convince me with presents, what makes you think it'll work with sex?"

He just rolls his eyes at the comparison, so long ago now, "Caroline…"

She cuts in before he can justify resuming the same conversation as before - and weaken any resolve by saying her name like that. She already has an inkling that she might actually crave hearing his voice this time around when she leaves New Orleans.

She clears her throat to clarify a minor detail.

"You know, what you're asking is only a problem if I stick around here."

His gaze instantly moves to the bedside table where the one-way ticket is lying atop her passport. For a second, she can read the reluctance on his face. But when he diverts his focus back to her and his hand reaches out to drift along the line of her hip, it's gone.

"Which is not a scenario that you see yourself in," he concludes.

She doesn't skip a beat, turning the statement back on him. "Do you?"

"You ask me this after engaging in, how did you once phrase it, hot hybrid-vampire sex? You cannot possibly expect an objective answer from a man that you've just had your way with," he counters, even as his words make her mind wander.

"I mean it," she probes, doing her best not to visibly stir when his touch dips from its previous path to trace the side of her torso, a hair's breadth away from the curve of her breast, "What do you think?"

He falls silent for a bit and she's not sure if it's because he is actually considering her question or absorbed in memorizing her form one more time solely with his fingers, traversing her body inch by inch.

"No, I don't see you staying," he admits and his body language betrays regret at the fact that he's telling the truth, "Not yet. You have too many ties that you're not ready to leave behind. You wish to go home while that definition still applies to Mystic Falls."

She blinks at the insight; one she didn't think would come out so easily and so spot on. It's surprising because here in his world, he could still easily make her bend to what he wants, even if he's promised to never compel her without consent. To hear these words seems miles away from when he spoke about taking what he desires, consequences be damned.

But it looks like the last couple of days have forced both of them to grow out of any fairytale notions that circumstances just fall away when things finally seem to be working. Scratch that, living in a supernatural world has taught her more about that than she ever wanted.

The outside always catches up and from what she's seen in his life over here, it's not their time. Not that she reckons there will ever be a perfect time. Not with this man.

"Yeah," she agrees, averting her gaze.

He's quiet for a while, hand stilling to rest on her waist. She finds herself following the line of his arm from the point of contact, along the veins running up the inside where she had her tongue pressed against his skin minutes ago.

The stark black shapes draw her attention now that they're not moving, the birds he chose to have expelled across his shoulder. She wonders when he got himself tattooed. Permanence as a human is one thing but for a vampire, that kind of mark literally remains forever.

She's seen the one his back too, noticing once again that there's so much she doesn't know about his body, its history. With all the reading of grimoires she's done in the past couple of years, she knows the triangle has countless meanings as well.

There are Celtic versions, certain Greek origins, she knows about how it represents the Holy Trinity, all that religious stuff. Connections between life, death and a transcendent in-between. Which one would he have thought of when getting that?

Or maybe she's way off and it's really about him, the two points he's closest to. Elijah and Rebekah. At least that would make the most sense if there weren't suddenly all these extra siblings in the family to consider. She supposes everyone has favourite siblings.

He mistakes her look for something else, taking the opportunity to break out of their trajectory just now.

"Hungry again?"

That jerks her out of her contemplation, noting that she's basically been staring at his throat again. At least it was totally unintentional this time around.

"No, just thinking. This felt … different. I've never taken blood when I was in bed with someone," she realizes and saying it aloud makes her feel a little flustered, her inexperience as a vampire is on the table again, "Well, like, not voluntarily. Not the way we just did."

He knows better than to bring up any names of previous partners in this conversation and lets it slide, shifting instead to draw his hand up along the side of her arm.

"You mean to say I was your first then?" he clarifies, almost a question but it's that none-to-subtle hint of satisfaction in his tone that has her scoffing under his touch, "I'd almost venture to say you enjoyed it."

His smirk has her falling into sassy-mode before she can help it, shaking her curls back over her shoulder to throw him an indignant look.

"Drinking from you is kind of all I've been doing the last few days, so I wouldn't…"

He interrupts her with a kiss as soon as she starts avoiding the answer he wants from her, coaxing her back down onto the mattress. She doesn't push him away. For god's sake, the man is naked and touching her in all the ways she fantasized about since they left each other in the forest. There's only so much resistance that's worth breaking this up for.

He didn't stop her earlier, she's not bothered to deny herself this now.

When they separate for air again and he's braced himself over her, he murmurs, "Come on, sweetheart, no need to fool either of us."

"It was …" she pretends to think about it, the wooden beads around his neck back in her grasp, "an experience."

It's his turn to raise an eyebrow, waiting for more. "Just that?"

"Not a completely terrible one," she offers, her best sugar-sweet smile underpinning just how much she's playing with him. She knows what he wants her to say but in this scenario, provocation just seems so much more fun.

"How did it make you feel?" he continues probing, digressing in his attention to kiss a path down her breastbone, skimming heat across her skin.

Her eyes close and she lifts her hands up onto the pillow above her head, doing her best to stay unfazed. Turns out it's quite difficult trying to focus on two distracting things at the same time, no matter how much she prides herself on her impeccable multitasking abilities.

"Warm," she says and he hums against her ribs in a voiceless demand for elaboration, lips finding their way to her chest and reigniting what she thought they'd just satiated, "Strong and, uh … good. That's … really, really good."

He's back at her height again, capturing her mouth before she really starts babbling with what he's doing to her. She leans into the kiss, loving the way he moulds his body against hers in response, how his fingers encircle her wrists to keep her right where she is.

"So you wouldn't be entirely opposed to continue until duty calls?"

There's no false modesty lost in his phrasing and she isn't at all put off by the idea. If she's getting the math right, that's more or less the entire night he is putting on offer here. Considering their first round was already pretty damn intense, she's sure she won't want to move a muscle by the morning.

Even if she doesn't doubt his stamina one bit, the control-freak side makes an appearance then to remind her - the fact remains that he got seriously poisoned today. Literally a couple of hours ago. She has no idea what he was doing in between Kol's revival and showing up at her room but she's willing to guess it didn't involve putting his feet up to have a cup of tea.

"I wouldn't. But super-hybrid-healing aside, maybe you should take it easy."

That takes a second to sink in and the brief flash of confusion gives way to amusement. He softens though, releasing her from the hold to bring his touch to her face instead. The pad of his thumb grazes along her cheek.

"There might have been an incident today but I've had far worse. Believe me, you arrived in New Orleans at a mild time of year. And as it stands, the person that has spent the better part of her time here battling inner demons would be you."

The last part is totally debatable and they both know it. Or at least she thinks it's obvious, considering his level of paranoia the entire time she's been here. Still, she's not going to pretend to be an expert on what he's been struggling with since he left.

Having just managed to distract them from the earlier dilemma, this is not the time and place to open up Pandora's box too.

"I'm fine," she insists, instantly regretting that she made that quip, "Really."

He responds with a non-committal noise from the back of his throat, not quite a word, not really in agreement. What is it with his insistence that she needs to be treated so carefully? Especially when she was out there doing the saving today.

She's definitely not ready to let the mood shift from where it was just heading, doesn't want to point at any more weaknesses on either side. Now that the proposition is out there, she can imagine way better uses for his tongue than to continue this discussion.

"Hey," she demands his attention back, bringing her hands to the warm body hovering over her again, "The way I see it, I've already had the city tour cut short today. Least you can do is make up for that."

Her insistence manages to rouse the quirk of a smile that he's given her too many times to count anymore. At least she stopped keeping track once she stopped vehemently ignoring it.

"I do hate to abandon promises," he concedes.

And with that she follows him in his movement as he rises back to his knees, eye-to-eye before they're joined at the lips again and she makes sure he forgets he ever had any concerns about what she is capable of handling.

 **/**

The room has fallen into darkness by the time they both need to pause and catch their breath, her shoulders surely bruising from where she's just been braced against the wall. Good thing they never bothered turning the lights on, the neighbours would have gotten a real show.

She straightens from where she's draped against him, the salt of their sweat coating her skin. It seems like it's becoming their new thing, doing this every time she's just come out of the shower. Not a trend she's got a problem with.

"Keep this up and I'll have to reschedule that flight, love," Klaus chuckles, steadying her as her thighs loosen from around his hips.

She waves him off, still finding her voice beneath the husky timbre it's taken on, "That sounds like a great conversation to have in the shower."

By the quirk of his eyebrow, it is clear the sound of that has a certain appeal. Especially considering they're used all other available surfaces in the room. But he doesn't comply immediately and surprises her by taking a step away. With a hand running through mussed curls, he glances at the lights flaring to life outside.

"Or over a drink," he suggests with fresh composure, despite the fact that his eyes rove across the planes of her body as soon as he refocuses on her. As though he hasn't familiarized himself with every part of it already. "I do think we were speaking about that before the untimely interruption today."

The fact that her heart rate is still way off the charts and that a cocktail sounds like absolute heaven in the wake of rediscovering him has her nodding. Although it doesn't stop her from taking his hand again and leading him to the bathroom, ensuring they use the rest of their time in private for all its worth.

It's easily another hour before they finally succeed in getting dressed and she really has to stop herself from seeking out physical contact as he pulls the discarded shirt back on. He catches the look though and grins while she pretends to be busy putting her damp hair into a plait.

"Ravishing either way, love," he assures her, coming up behind while she fixes the last wily strands with a bobby pin.

"How is that supposed to be an objective comment right now?" she throws back over her shoulder, allowing him to touch his lips to the skin at the juncture of her collarbone before accepting the jacket he holds out.

"I would never claim to be," the hybrid corrects good-naturedly, holding the door open for her, "But I'm also rarely mistaken."

She makes sure to roll her eyes as soon as she's past him, even if it's at odds with the smile tugging at her mouth. She can blame the rush of hormones still running through her system for making her susceptible to the compliment.

She'd thought they would surely run into one of the other Mikaelsons as they head to the courtyard, but the building is silent.

Klaus retrieves his phone to confirm that Elijah has left the compound on investigations into possible side effects of the reincarnation and that Freya has taken the baby out for a walk.

She is almost sure that the Original decided to vacate the building as fast as possible once they started getting vocal upstairs and that the witch had no desire to rest anymore only because she's the mortal - well kind of - one in the family. She gets that vibe from her, very much like her own annoyance any time she feels she can't contribute.

Josh is surely long gone too. In the heat of things she completely forgot about him. He wouldn't have needed any motivation to get out of this place but maybe she should have written him a note. The poor vampire was probably super confused as to why he was just left there. She hopes Elijah briefed him.

She ups the plan for the apology compensation to dinner and at least three drinks. It makes her feel better, even if it's unlikely that she'll get around to it.

The young vampire gets pushed from her mind though as they mingle outside, moving amongst the regular evening crowds towards the heart of the Quarter. She recognizes most of the streets by now but when they reach Jackson Square and she sees the iconic architecture brightly lit against the sky, she stops to take it all in.

Having passed by here a couple of times, she glimpsed the place then but it looks so different at this hour, lively with colour and sounds. It's the first time she's really paying attention. There are literally musicians on every corner, street artists still working despite the lack of light, stalls with trinkets, all against the backdrop of the white cathedral.

She can imagine him standing on the pavement here when he first arrived in this city, knowing he was going to make it his home. When he made the choice to leave Mystic Falls. In the sights, smells and noises that surround them here, she can see the appeal.

"So this is one of your favourite places in the world?" she asks and is pleased to see him hesitate in his motions, coming to a halt just a step ahead.

He turns back, recognition slowly rising in his features. "You did receive the message."

She shrugs, decidedly casual even though there's no hiding now that there is more behind the gesture.

"When you send something it's usually important. You know, life-or-death scenarios involving people I know. It would have been risky not to listen to it."

"Well, since this was the rare exception of a friendly call and considering you did follow the invitation here, would you say it was worth your time?"

She lets that question hang in the air for just long enough to make him waver slightly before she cracks a smile.

"Not sure. But you still have some time to convince me."

She doesn't need to look over at him to know that he's wearing his trademark smirk again, never one to back down from an invitation like that. She takes the lead before he can respond something equally cheeky and turns a corner to find herself back on the street she shopped her way through days ago.

It's shocking to think that they didn't run into each other right then, now that she knows where he resides in the Quarter. Sheer dumb luck. Or not, she supposes. Had he stumbled across her earlier, a lot of recent events could have been avoided.

The moment that train of thought comes along, she catches sight of Rousseau's at the end of the road. She doesn't mean to hesitate but seeing it full of customers, business as usual, is very strange. As though nothing ever happened within those walls, nothing changed since a few nights ago. The bar is missing someone that she took away.

Klaus catches her line of sight and his gaze becomes a little sharper as he draws the connection. He turns away in the next moment to guide her along the adjacent street, tearing her eyes away from the memory.

"Tonight is not about her," he tells her over the melody of a violinist on the corner, "Let it go, love."

She can't quite make herself agree. She'll be back to coping on her own by the time tomorrow comes around, so anything she's got left to clear up between them needs to happen while she's still here. Camille hasn't been as tangibly present since she confessed to Davina but that doesn't mean she has banished the human from her mind.

"She told me she wrote your memoirs for you. You must have known each other pretty well, if you shared your story with her like that," she points out, ignoring his request.

The line of his jaw hardens but he keeps his voice level, gaze straight ahead.

"Yes."

"Weren't you ever worried she would spill secrets?" she presses, figuring someone with his disposition would quadruple-check before allowing a person to get their hands on information that could be used against him.

"That wasn't necessary. Initially, our meetings were for therapeutic purposes and I simply made sure doctor-patient confidentiality was a priority. The memoires were my end of the deal, the therapy experience was hers. I compelled her to forget what she knew concerning vampires each time she left. "

She creases her brow at that explanation. She could have sworn the bartender knew exactly what she was when they had that first interaction with her. Everything about her body language had suggested she'd been aware of supernatural creatures the whole time.

"That's not the impression I got."

He doesn't answer for several strides but since her gaze is boring into him relentlessly, he finally offers up more details.

"There were several developments since that time. You might say I placed my trust in her, especially when she made friends with those in the Quarter that made secrecy obsolete. Keeping the truth from her would have resulted in too many complications; as it turned out her whole family line had complicated history with the witches. Besides, a student of psychology was bound to be able to handle the revelation."

He halts in front of a building on their left, stepping aside to let her in first. She barely catches sight of the sign indicating some kind of fancy wine bar before she's shrouded in warm light and the aroma of aged wood.

She picks a spot near the stairs, where there's just enough of a niche to not be noticed immediately and the noise level is lower than what she hears coming from the top floor. Surveying the place, she notes a canopy of vines, possibly even real, is twined through the wrought iron banister of the stairs and along the ceiling. Totally shabby chic.

He takes up the chair opposite her and folds his hands patiently on the tabletop, waiting for her to browse the menu. Of course, he's probably here regularly enough to simply demand the usual.

"And what do you think made her trust you?" she picks up the topic again, fingers flicking idly through the assortment of wines on the page. Not that she's really looking.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, it was obvious that she got really protective when I tried to ask about what you've been doing and how to find you. So I'm thinking, if she wasn't compelled to help you, why did she put herself on the line like that? She trusted you to care and to protect her. But she must have known that humans are a means to an end for you."

He keeps perfectly still but some of that earlier joviality slips from his face the moment she makes that association. She knows she isn't wrong about the last part because she has heard enough from the people in this city.

At the core of what he is, he hasn't changed too much from his days in their town. If the bartender really wrote his memoirs and counselled him, then she must have known.

"I made it clear that I did," he eventually says, leaning back in his chair with a posture that could not say more clearly that he wants to close the subject, "By saving her life."

It's her turn to look away, the menu suddenly way more interesting than it seemed a minute ago. Something is tugging at the periphery of her thoughts, about a comment Freya made on that first day when she had her humanity back and was still too distraught to pay closer attention.

Suddenly, those words push things into a different perspective.

She's a little afraid to put the question out there because it means setting something into motion that she might regret knowing. Ignorance can definitely be bliss but the nagging feeling she's had since he first dismissed talking about it is back. She's close to something.

It might be a hit and miss but it could just as well be the truth.

"So when your sister talked about how you were attached to her like you are to me … she meant you had feelings for her?"

"Freya is not an expert on my thoughts by any means," he's quick in his rebuttal, eyes narrowed.

Oh please. She's seen how it works, has even been subjected to it herself and she highly doubts the Original witch is any worse at invading a mind than Davina. If Freya got a peek at even the slightest indication of something connected to the bartender, it was probably true.

Instead of pressing further, she raises her eyebrows expectantly and crosses her arms. Obvious enough of an indicator that she's fine to wait for him to find a response. The hybrid tilts his head, balancing that line between curiosity and exasperation at being put on the spot again.

"What is the real question here, sweetheart?"

"Did I come here and kill someone you were in love with?"

The second it's out there, she feels worry rise that this is going to result in another pregnant silence that will let her read into a million things he isn't revealing. Overactive imagination and all that. She let's out a breath slowly, trying to hide the discomfort. Thankfully, he seems to take it in his stride and uncurls from his position, leaning forward over the table again.

"No, you didn't."

Each syllable is distinct and direct; she can't read a lie in them. His answer lets her swallow the words that were already poised on her tongue. She literally feels her shoulders dropping as they lose tension she wasn't even aware of.

"Okay," she says, and it's calmer this time.

She doesn't want to fight.

"It would be no different if I had been," he clarifies, azure blue growing darker, "It is what it is now and I've stopped considering what could have been. You may continue to judge me for it but humans remain a means to an end because they are transient. We, who will outlive them by eternities, can only focus on what we have in the present."

She holds the eye contact, seeing both the reality and the tragedy in his words.

But of course it would make a world of difference if she has cut someone out of his life that managed to actually stir human feelings in him, other than his family. She might hate herself more for what she's done. She might find herself irrationally, stupidly jealous of the woman. She might be able to understand his on-and-off behaviour all the better for it.

"Maybe you should put that in your memoir," is her suggestion, closing the menu.

"This does not mean forgetting, Caroline," he replies and she gets that telltale sensation again, the knowledge that he's weaving wisdom from many lifetimes into a single thought, "It's about moving on."

With that, he rises from his chair to walk over to the bar. His stride is not really angry, not quite collected either. She's left at the table with her conflicting feelings about what she just learned.

Resting her chin on her hand, she watches him command the employees' attention. Seeing as she hasn't given him any indication of what she wants, she assumes he's ordering for her. The earlier idea of a cocktail is quickly developing into an honest need for something stronger.

At least the solace stays. It makes it no better to know Camille O'Connell was a friend and not a lover but for some reason, it seems like a whole world of difference. And the longer she's keeping track of his motions from across the room, the real reason sinks in.

No matter how much she's resisted him, she never wanted to share.


	23. In a year or even in a century

**23\. In a year or even in a century**

As though he's read her mind on the matter, it's a whole bottle that he's got in his grasp when he returns to the table. She's not surprised. It's really amazing how vampire tolerance has led to something close to alcoholism when it comes to handling liquor.

Silently, he pours two shots.

She notes there is still a kind of suppressed energy to his motions. Her questions have set something in motion, despite his usual eloquent denial. She accepts the drink wordlessly but holds onto it. She's distracted by how the atmosphere between them has changed again.

He tips his share down without a word, the impact of the glass ringing out too loud against the tabletop as he sets it back down. Or maybe that's just her. When their gazes meet again, he's the one to break the ice.

"Anything else to get off your chest, whilst we're covering unfortunate subjects?"

Despite all intentions, his tone is too much of a challenge for her to pass off the question.

"I'm not sure you're ready for that conversation."

The comment earns her a sharp glance and she ignores it, shifting her attention to what he's picked out. Rum trickles down her throat and she actually has to focus on keeping a straight face. He didn't exaggerate – holy crap this stuff _is_ good.

"That's a matter of perspective," he counters and refills for both of them when she lowers her glass.

She responds by leaning back in her chair, deliberate in the eye-roll that she gives him, "Did you really decide to get out of bed so we could argue more? I thought we were done with that for the night."

He smirks, not oblivious to the fact that she's laying it out in a way that suits her, "I believe I mentioned that our previous talk was far from over. Perhaps you were still occupied otherwise during that conversation."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure I found an answer called flying back home and not thinking about this while it's not relevant. So unless I missed the part where this was supposed to be worth ditching what we were doing before … let's not get into that again?"

He takes his time considering her entirely unsubtle demand for a change in subject. Where a near unstoppable force and an almost immovable object come together, there's only so long that it's worth the struggle. They've had their fair share of fights over the past few days.

After the second round of alcohol has made it past his lips, he dips his head in agreement.

"Then perhaps we may finally get to the topic we haven't breached."

Her raised eyebrow says it all - this could go several ways and having no clue what he's getting at this time, she opts to let him continue. What on earth have they not covered yet in this rollercoaster ride of a visit to New Orleans?

He gives her a pointed look, "I'm talking about you."

"Me?"

"In as much as we've spoken about issues that came about during your stay here and brought up my time in Mystic Falls, the conversation about college hasn't quite come up yet," he points out.

"The mini-fridge is doing great, thanks," she replies, taking another sip, "And what could I tell you that your spy didn't cover already?"

It's his turn to scoff but the corners of his mouth turn up at her quip.

"Several terms on a campus full of young, idealistic people ready to make many terrible life decisions and focus the least amount of their energy on studying. I'd be shocked if there weren't some interesting stories. Aside from the ones involving your supernatural problems - I'm sure those could fill books."

She has to chuckle because even with the Originals' departure that aspect hasn't changed a bit. Not that Whitmore is far away from Mystic Falls to begin with. She could get over there at vampire speed in less than fifteen minutes.

Even though she's pleased the mood is taking a turn, she doesn't really know what he wants to hear. Or how much she's willing to share. He's been a very separate entity from her college life. Someone who was steadily becoming just a chapter of her history, a phone number in her contacts reserved for super-apocalyptic emergency situations.

She's hesitant about how much she wants to be sharing because once it gets beyond facts that would mean he's involved. More than she figured she wants him to be. Especially after what she made clear to him when they last met in her hometown.

The graduation gift was supposed to be the end of it. But then her life took unpredictable turns, as usual.

"First of all, I'm actually putting a lot of effort into my classes … when I'm not dealing with my friends being in a huge crisis featuring creepy secret societies or weird witch rituals gone wrong. Double majoring is not a piece of cake. And if you're fishing for some crazy stories about drugs or seducing professors, you're not getting any."

That ignites a playful grin, "Suggesting there are some?"

"Seriously, what do you think people do at college? I mean - did you ever go to one? I guess it was a bit different a couple of centuries ago…"

He shakes his head but is quick to pick up what she's getting at, "Not in America. My family spent a better part of our time in Europe and until recent decades, that part of the world was considered the epicentre of Western knowledge in higher education. University was a very productive time until I came to realize that most subjects are still best studied outside of books and lecture halls."

"Uh huh. And that's where you met your best friends DaVinci and Einstein?" she throws the rhetorical question out there, not expecting much more than the bemused quirk of his lips.

"Not all. Although the past two centuries were full of extraordinary thinkers. If you'd like an extensive list, some of the names may stand out. I remember Nietzsche being a nice bloke to have a chat with once you got a couple of drinks in him. Of course most of them only get recognised for their brilliance posthumously."

She's secretly impressed, envious even of something that she can't help anyway. That's too many years of experience she can't ever hope to catch up on. It keeps dawning on her in such moments just how much this man has seen, heard, lived to be a part of. He is history made flesh and bone.

Still, she schools her face into showing only mild interest.

"That thing you're doing? That's called bragging," she deadpans, finishing her drink, "Hey, one of my professors could end up getting a Nobel Prize and becoming famous and suddenly Whitmore will be on the same level as Harvard. Maybe I should start collecting autographs now."

He takes her up on the thought, "Just a scribble on a piece of paper, when it comes down to it. But considering your ambition, I see no reason why it wouldn't be you receiving a prize one day, love."

Compliments, compliments. It's too bad she could really get used to this and has to put in some effort to not let him get to her head. She's realistic, if nothing else, but he's so damn good at stroking her ego. Probably because nobody tells her these things anymore.

"Well, apparently you can't really work as a broadcast journalist these days unless you've got some kind of a degree on paper so I think I'll stick it out for now. Maybe I can find a way to combine it with theatre later on."

"Ah. So it's Fox News you see for yourself on the horizon?" he grins, pouring another round.

She rolls her eyes back at him, "That's an application for desperate times. If it's not a position where I can fire everyone and start running the place myself, I don't think so. But I need to get some actual experience before I go for the big fish… which means two more years of college and networking until it gets me places."

"You still prefer to choose the human struggle to the top, then? It could be much easier, love, surely you know that by now."

"Not everyone wants to give up the life they had just because they were turned," she reminds him, "And as long as I can still pass for this age bracket, I'll go for these experiences. I know that's what I would be doing if things hadn't changed. Oh and it's totally more satisfying to pass classes because you put in the work and didn't compel your way through."

He keeps his gaze on her level but his expression grows smoother the more she describes her take on it, humour slipping slowly from his mouth. She could swear she sees something like respect flickering behind his eyes. His next words are chosen carefully to paint a picture for her.

"I take it those are the plans you spoke of when we last met? That future you desire consists of college life, a day job, three children and a picket fence?"

Caroline stares back, briefly at a loss of how to interpret his neutral tone because there's no mockery or sarcasm to be found. Not between the lines either, it came out as a genuine question. Like he wants to understand why those would be her aspirations when she could be doing just about anything.

He's getting pretty close to what circled around her head back then but she's come a long way since their forest encounter. Certain things she's come to terms with – they're not going to happen like she imagined they would. Maybe not at all.

"It would have been two," she corrects, "And you don't need to tell me that it's stupid to think that a middle-school fantasy will come true. I know that's not in the cards anymore. Unless I adopt, like, vampire children that won't freak out when they discover the truth."

He waves that off, "Perhaps a year ago I would have called it foolish. But magical loopholes and an unexpected pregnancy later, I'm reconsidering which fantasies qualify as ridiculous. As for seeking work, people have always defined themselves through their professions. If you're certain about your passion, nobody should stop you from pursuing it."

She has to smile at the speech before turning the question back on him, "And what's your job description now? Looks like you've gone from small town troublemaker to major of this place?"

He gives her an incredulous look over the rim off his shot before he tips it back. "The King of New Orleans, sweetheart. I am the reason this city can even call itself more than a settlement today."

"Yeah, okay, I'm sure it did just fine while you were away," she snorts, letting her drink slide down her throat as well and relishing the soft burn, "But seriously, what do you actually do apart from going around bothering everyone that's not on your side? This is the 21st century not the Middle Ages – do you qualify as a politician or something?"

"Oh come on, love. You know that I'm nothing less than a dictator. The supernatural community around these parts always knew as much and the humans are quickly put in their place. These relationships don't change, regardless of what century we're in."

The worst thing here is that there's not a single ounce of shame in that proclamation. It's as much of a fact for him as the sky being blue.

"Right, beware the immortal monarch with a god-complex reigning here," she sums it up before topping off her glass, "I'm sure the state has a really fun time trying to figure out how much to tax you. Occupation: secretly ruling the world."

She can feel him watching her closely as she swirls the liquid around. It takes a few seconds before he let's that comment be what it is so it doesn't take them into a whole different direction. With a smirk, he tries to pull her back to the subject at hand.

"To return to the initial point – where are we on those college stories?"

She shakes her head in response, feeling the first semblance of tipsiness take hold with the motion, "Five more of these and then you can start _trying_ to convince me to spill some."

"Tempting. Alright then," he raises his hand to toast her with the insanely good rum once again, "To a bright future. I do hope you'll change your mind about me featuring in it."

She almost chokes on her mouthful because that did come out of nowhere but as soon as her eyes snap up to his, she knows he's not joking. A million thoughts immediately shoot through her head – from logistics of when's and where's that suddenly sound kind of appealing to how-would-we-hide-that-from-everyone and but-what-about-his-promise?

This is exactly what she didn't want. That side effect of shedding her defences around him making her so susceptible. She doesn't enjoy being out of her depth. But she wasn't the only one that got naked during this time – physically and emotionally - and it's only natural that his offer rings in her ears with the same impact as the seductions he whispered before.

"Cheers," is all she manages to reply, eyes locked with his as they both drink up.

"Flustered is a good look on you, love," he comments all too innocently and she turns on her best indignant glare once their glasses have found their way back to the table, "Something I said?"

"You really want to go for this?" she shoots back, "Because right now we have all the evidence that it's a bad idea to be seen together around anyone you've turned against you."

"I never said anything about regular weekend trips down to New Orleans."

She doesn't tone down her scepticism, "So it's you dropping by at Whitmore every now and again until I decide I miss you enough to want to be with you, drop everything and move to, I don't know, France together?"

"Italy, if anything. And here I thought I had the active imagination about the depth of our relationship," he quips and she knows she totally fails to hide her vexation at the fact that she just played right into his hands, "I thought I made it clear that I am not going to push you into doing anything that you are unwilling to."

And yet he keeps putting these thoughts into her head, knowing she'll dwell on the possibilities. Sneaky bastard.

"Klaus…" she warns, "Just give it to me straight."

There's a moment where she can see he's teetering on the edge of an inappropriate joke to lighten up the tone but she keeps her gaze steady on him and he lets it pass. It's starting to get too late for games, she needs to be clear about where they stand before she leaves.

"You should know that I'm not averse to staying in touch beyond the occasional fridge. I have held back on contacting you because you made it clear that you did not want that anymore. I even heeded Stefan's request to leave you in peace after your mother passed so I didn't send a sign of my condolences. But now you've been here. I find it hard to believe that does not change anything for you."

She's silent for a bit. There's really no arguing with his last point. Obviously everything in their dynamic has shifted again. She needs to gather her thoughts because it sounds like this is actually it. Her decision to extend that invitation for him to be a part of her life again, even if that just ends up being the sporadic text message.

It could become more. It might not.

She sucks in a slow breath, "As long as you get it's not cool to show up out of the blue whenever you feel like it. You've got your life here and mine is around Mystic Falls. If – and that's a big _if_ – I decide I wouldn't mind seeing you again, it would be somewhere else."

Based on the way his jaw literally slackens at her reply, it looks like she managed to stump him with that answer. Fantastic. But really, he was pushing the conversation that way; he must have hoped to get this kind of response out of her.

She lets him dwell on that while she licks some spilled rum off her finger.

It's almost the ideal moment in the wake of this new development for him to lean across the table and suggest taking this conversation to the alley behind the bar. But of course, someone else chooses that second to call him. The vibration of his phone rips both of them straight out of that headspace and the hybrid visibly groans, pulling out the device.

"Sister," he says, eyes still fixed on her as he accepts the call, "What a perfectly inconvenient time. If you need help with a spell, do bother Elijah about it."

She bites her lip to stop the grin but it's not as effective as planned. Klaus leans his head back and glowers at the ceiling, visibly irritated that they've been cut short at this point. Drawing her attention back to her drink, she forbids herself from eavesdropping and takes stock of what's going on around them.

The bar has filled up although it seems this is more of a local establishment than a real tourist destination. There are some connoisseurs in the corner next to the bar, evidently having a taste of the whole wine inventory. A group of college kids near the entrance, splurging on drinks for someone's birthday if the party hats are anything to go by. Two elegantly dressed older women at the bar, looking like they own the place.

"What do you mean, she's sick? When did this start?"

She looks back at the man opposite her, his forehead creasing as he listens to the witch on the other end. She doesn't like the look he's got all of a sudden, clearly one of anxiousness. It's still an unfamiliar sight.

He doesn't say anything else, merely making impatient noises of assent until he finally hangs up. She's already anticipating that their night out is being cut short and gives him a nod before he can open his mouth to give her the reason.

There's only one person she can think of that could stir up this reaction.

"Hope is … she said something about a fever," he explains and had she not seen the worry crossing his face just now, she would have been amused at how he struggles to find the words, caught in the full throws of protective-father-mode, "Someone needs to stay with her to make sure it's not life threatening. If this comes down to witch interference…"

"Hey, it's okay. Toddlers get sick all the time," she's quick to interject, "Don't go pointing fingers before you even see her. You haven't exactly been around her a lot in the last few days; it could just be the flu."

"Regardless," his gaze flies over their rendezvous space, "This is…"

"Fine. Really. You should go see her. If her mom's not around right now, you are definitely the one that should take care of her. I'll catch up later."

He doesn't look convinced of course but it's clear that one of these matters is more pressing than the other. If it were her kid who is not feeling well, she'd be out of here in a heartbeat - no matter how good of a time she's having.

It takes him another drawn out moment of contemplation before he pockets his phone with a sigh and rises from his seat. He quickly retrieves his wallet and pulls out a particularly large bill, depositing it under his glass.

"Seriously? That bottle can't actually be a hundred dollars," she protests.

He doesn't bat an eye at her resistance; leaning down to press his lips against her cheek, "Have whatever you want. It's the least I can do."

And then he's gone in a whisper of air rushing past and she doesn't even get the opportunity to tell him that she can definitely take care of the tab herself. Not that she reckons he would have considered paying in the first place had she not been here with him.

She finishes the shot still standing in front of her before retrieving her own phone to check the time. Five hours until she needs to head to the airport and it's unlikely that she'll be able to get the Original to focus on anything but the wellbeing of his little girl until then.

Scratch that, she wouldn't want to distract him from something so important anyway.

She can be selfish but not that level of egotistic. Still, this new turn of events kind of frees her up to finish this whole delicious bottle and find some live music to enjoy one last time. Now that she's alone, she's finding it easier to pull her mind out of the gutter and think more clearly about what she wants to do.

Too bad she never got Josh's number; otherwise she'd invite him over here to share the booze. But maybe one of those haunted Quarter tours is still on – nothing like a tipsy walk through the nicest part of town when it's already way past witching hour, listening to the city's horror stories and guessing which ones included the Original family.

What ends up happening is that she browses through various options on her phone, getting absolutely nowhere with finding a guided tour that take place around this time. That leads to more research on tourist sites about what to not have missed around New Orleans. Judging by those posts, Klaus didn't even touch on half of the sights around here.

She's regretting that she didn't spend more time on those things in her first days here. Too bad humanity-free Caroline had other priorities.

Her research only gets interrupted by a prickling along her spine, that unexplainable innate sense that someone is watching her. If she had to guess based on the clientele here, she would have said the connoisseurs that she noticed just a little while ago. But when she raises her gaze back to that spot, it's not the three middle-aged men she finds.

It's Kol.

She's pretty sure her change in expression screams 'what the hell'? His body language is calm, entirely collected and she can't gage how long he's been observing from across the room. When did he even get here?

He doesn't make any move to come closer and she realizes that she doesn't know if she would even be okay with that. Although he's supposed to be back to normal – whatever that means for this vampire – shaking the earlier experience is easier said than done. He's clothed and looking civilized enough with his beer in hand but that's a mask she wears too.

Aside from the fact that it's interesting he isn't with Davina but alone in this random bar, she wonders how he found her. Out of everyone available, she'd place her bets that Klaus would not have picked him to keep an eye out for her. Meaning this is either a complete coincidence or the youngest brother sought her out on purpose.

She can rationalize that they're in a public place so he wouldn't dare do something to hurt her if he's back to sanity. By now he's probably also wary enough of his brother to not even attempt an attack. Best-case scenario, his witch girlfriend convinced him that she's on their side and worth being nice to.

So her better judgement inevitably gives in to curiosity and she opens the bottle again, filling up two shots and pushing one to other side of the table.

He takes his time finishing the drink in his hand before taking her up on the cue. She keeps her eyes glued to her phone but it's like her whole body becomes attuned to him moving around the crowded bar. Finding herself involuntarily tense up the closer he gets, she crosses her arms to hide it as he takes up Klaus' empty seat.

Sitting in the same spot, she notices for the first time how he's slightly taller than the hybrid. A little more boyish and less controlled in his motions. She wonders if he would have been around her age when he died. No wonder he turned out the most unpredictable of his family – teenage urges meets vampirism isn't a good mix.

The silence grows thicker as they both size another up. When it's obvious he doesn't want to make a start, she fishes for something to say that doesn't sound like an immediate accusation. She didn't invite him over here to demand an apology, she pretty sure she won't get one anyway.

"The last time we met was also in a bar," she notes.

He takes her up on the prompt, dark eyes narrowing, "Was it?"

It's really strange to hear him speak now, after the image of him snarling like an animal earlier has ingrained itself into her mind. The timbre is husky, like he still has to get used to communicating this way again.

"The day after your family's ball. You and Klaus were drinking the Grill dry. Apparently gallons of expensive champagne weren't enough to handle the family reunion."

Her description does seem to jog his memory, "I remember. My brother had already claimed you back then, running after you like a lovesick puppy. He's always had a thing for women that wouldn't give him the time of day. I thought you were simply asking to be killed."

She scoffs, "Do I look like someone with a death wish? If I wanted to end my life, I'd pick other ways than pissing off Klaus."

"He's got a great eye for stabbing you with a dagger, I highly recommend it," he says with absolutely no irony, reaching out to turn the bottle his way and glance at the label, "Quite preferable to burning alive."

She gets the connotation, having looked at his blistered, blackened corpse on the Gilbert kitchen floor for way too long. "I'm not here to apologize for my friends."

"Good. I'm not here to throw around false apologies either," he raises the glass to her and tips down its contents.

She creases her brow at his response, "Then why are you here?"

"Simple, darling. To enjoy a drink in my favourite bar after coming back from a long dry spell in New Orleans' very own witch purgatory," he replies as though it's the most obvious thing but his eyes don't meet hers.

There's clearly more to it so she forgoes a snappy comment about not calling her anything but her name and focuses on what he's not saying. Mirroring his motion, she empties her glass in one swig. The spreading warmth in her chest is steadily going to her head, making her forget that he still has the power to jam his hand through her ribcage if he feels like it.

"Without the person that just brought you back from the dead? Seems kind of rude to celebrate being alive without her."

"She's underage," he mutters but the feeble excuse really doesn't do much to convince either of them.

"Like that would be a problem. I don't think there's anyone in this city that doesn't drink some kind of moonshine way too early," she rolls her eyes at him, "So did she tell you to find me or not?"

"None of your concern," he evades her gaze, filling up his glass instead of an actual answer. She forces herself to be patient this time and wait him out, letting the quiet stretch between them until he gives her an irritated glance, "She seems to think you deserve a word of thanks for helping with my resurrection."

"She's a smart girl. I'm still wondering why she picked you," she quips.

Even though she didn't actually mean that seriously – because she is the last person that gets to judge anyone falling in love with a Mikaelson at this point - his tone changes, voice darkening as he leans over the table.

"But she doesn't have any idea what you and your small town cronies are capable of. So, where's the catch little vampire? I know that kind of magic must have come from a witch outside New Orleans and that only leaves Bonnie Bennett. What's the play here?"

She feels her expression dropping with every word. "Are you serious right now? You think I did this to get some kind of upper hand over your family?"

"Give me a better explanation and I might consider it."

She shakes her head, flicking her braid over her shoulder. She's done this too many times over the last few days, truly annoyed at the turn this just took, "You know what, you should have just said thank you and left it at that. Your paranoia is just as bad as Klaus'. What we did in Mystic Falls was to protect ourselves, there's literally no reason I would come all the way here to put myself into the line of fire trying to get some leverage on you."

The dark-haired Original lets out a dry, humourless laugh, obviously not buying it.

"My big brother would never even think to question your motives because he's smitten. I may have been out of the loop for some months now but even a blind person could see he can't judge any situation where you're involved. From what I heard, you waltzed right into town and killed his favourite human plaything turned therapist and he didn't even torture you for it. So, I'll ask again, what's your price?"

She could throw up her hands in exasperation. Does nobody listen to her when she says something? How the hell do you prove to anyone around here that you don't have bad intentions every step of the way?

"Believe what you want. I made a deal with Davina, she kept up her end and that was it. The only part Bonnie played was being a good friend who helped me out. I'm not Katherine, or Damon or any one of those people trying to screw you over all the time just beause I can. I didn't even know you were alive and dead again until I came here," she stops, catching her breath and surprised that she managed to get worked up so quickly – the alcohol is doing funny things to her head, "So yeah, an apology for almost ripping my heart out would have been great but I know what it feels like to have no humanity so I get it, it's nice not to give a crap. I don't want anything from you. But you'd better appreciate what that girl did to get you back."

He absorbs that and tilts his head slightly to give her a long, measured look once she's done. Then he pulls the bottle towards his side of the table again, unscrews the top and pours the remainder into her empty glass. Raising his own in a toast, he dips his chin towards the one that's topped up for her.

"Touché."

She accepts the drink but doesn't clink glasses with him, tipping it down without pause. The alcohol is rushing through her limbs and even though the supernatural metabolism will burn it up within the next hour, she enjoys the buzz for now. She probably wouldn't have ranted at him like this if she were sober.

While she's still reckless enough to give him a lecture, she wants to mention something else. Considering that the last thing she saw the two of them doing was Kol ripping into the witch's most vulnerable artery, she'll take a wild guess that it's still a bit of a rift between them.

"Don't make me regret giving her that spell," she points a warning finger at him, "She said you've become a better person and I wasn't going to shatter her illusions."

A different look flickers across his face, sheepish before settling on defensive, "I would never do anything to hurt her. Not if I can help it."

"Right. Sounds like a happily ever after," she notes, resting her head on her hand, "Try not to screw it up. Flowers and chocolates can only fix so many mistakes. But they're always a good call - does wonders for vampire bites too."

The indignant stare he gives her for that advice is priceless and she's almost inclined to see more in him than the blood-crazed vampire with no conscience. Something along the lines of volatile mood-swinging vampire in love with a mortal, who might actually have a sense of humour.

He manages a grin in return that's not fully patronizing.

"The baby vampire that's got it all figured out. I think I'm starting to see why my brother keeps you around."


	24. Vampirism is by definition an afterlife

**24\. Vampirism is, by definition, an afterlife**

Even though it definitely wasn't her intention to get drunk in his company, somehow they've moved from rum to bourbon and the tally of empty bottles has risen to almost three.

Who knew Kol was actually not the worst person to have a conversation with?

Going from semi-serious relationship talk to recollections about all the Mystic Falls insanity during the time he was still alive, she's barely noticed time going by.

Turns out he hasn't actually missed that much, despite being physically dead and on the Other Side. From what she's gathered, it sounds like standing behind a one-way mirror like they do in all the cop shows. He seems to have been aware that it was like a parallel universe, still able to see beyond its borders.

Obviously graduation day was proof of just how permeable that border could be under the right circumstances. But the whole resurrection as a witch thing that happened later is too complex for her to really grasp at this level of intoxication.

"But coming back to life didn't do that much for you, huh? I mean, you kind of ended up dead again," she chuckles.

He points an impressively steady finger at himself, smirking.

"Couldn't deprive the world of this handsome face for that long, now could I? The other fella was decent enough but this body is simply irreplaceable."

She scoffs when she sets her drink back down, "What? So mortality didn't suit you?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong, darling. Being a witch was one of the best experiences I've had in a while. A reminder of the good old days when I still practiced magic. It has its perks. But nobody can stay alive as part of this family if the body isn't up to it."

"But it's not like you just decided to end it because you didn't want to be vulnerable."

He rolls his eyes at the remark, "Didn't have too much choice in the matter. I'd just gotten used to being alive again and then I received yet another death sentence. No need to get into that story, I'm sure you've noticed it's just all glitter and rainbows in this city."

Since they've upgraded from shot glasses to tumblers something like half an hour ago, he takes it upon himself to refill them. Caroline rests her head on her hand, elbow propped up on the table to watch him pour.

She has something specific in mind that she wants to ask about and it seems like this is perfect moment. It's been floating around her head ever since they started talking about resurrections.

"And what's it like being dead? I mean, really dead? Are there others there? Do you even know that you're gone or is it … I don't know, just emptiness?" she asks, not bothered just yet by how ineloquent she's getting, "'Cause when you woke up here, you thought you were still in that place so is it basically the same or…?

"Really enjoying the morbid subjects, aren't we?" his eyes avoid hers as he swirls the bourbon around his glass, even though he keeps his tone light.

"Just interested."

What she doesn't say is that she's hoping for an answer that will convince her it's the kind of afterlife that she's always been told about growing up. That the inquiry is not even about him at this point. She wants an answer to assure her that there is a possibility for peace.

There simply needs to be a better place out there for someone like her mom.

The Original doesn't give her what she wants to hear though, his lips turning up in a grim smile that's anything but genuine, "It's not exactly the kind of paradise where you sip cocktails at the beach. Let's leave it at that."

"How specific," she retorts.

The mirth starts draining from his expression. The trip down memory lane is evidently not a pleasant one. He drops his gaze down to the table, finding immense fascination in the patterns running through the wood.

"You wouldn't exactly be keen to relive the details of having New Orleans witch ancestors torture you for months on end without a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Knowing there was nowhere to go unless someone from the outside brought you back."

She has another mouthful of her drink, liquid courage pushing her on. "So there were other people there?"

"Did I not just mention the spirits of generations of dead witches who enjoy punishing intruders in all the gruesome ways they can come up with?"

"Meaning no humans?" she clarifies.

She can see it's not doing any good to take him back to that recent experience but she just _has_ to be sure. His description of this spirit realm or underworld or afterlife – whatever it is, can't be everything. It's can't be where they all end up once they're ashes and dust.

With the anchor and supernatural purgatory gone, this alternative sounds like a nightmare. It kind of makes her hope that Klaus is right about death now being a true end with no more in-betweens like the Other Side. But his brother has been through it. Who could know more?

He shrugs, obviously done with the topic and knocks back his share of alcohol in one long swallow. The last of their bottle ends up in his glass and he doesn't offer to split it.

Even though it shouldn't, his reaction irritates her. It's neither a straight answer nor true denial and that's all she was asking for, for god's sake.

He doesn't get it. How could he? She hasn't mentioned that she only ended up in New Orleans to begin with because of her mom's death, the thing that started a whole chain of events. If it's possible to get some kind of insight from him, she wants it.

In another place and time, where she's not as drunk as she is, she'd pick up on the cue to drop the subject. But her inhibitions are way off so politeness, let alone socially acceptable behaviour, have lost their appeal.

"Is it that hard to just answer the damn question?"

He fixes her with that dark stare again, something unreadable sparking in his eyes. She's come to find they're all good at that, the Mikaelson brothers. Saying everything and nothing with their gazes to make others feel like they're better off shrinking back into a corner.

It's all about that instinct of being threatened by someone powerful and the need to back down. Only she chooses to ignore that gut feeling more and more these days.

She's stepped into the lion's den already, what use is it treading carefully now?

When she doesn't show any signs of retreat, he opts to overlook the fact that she asked in the first place. Another thing that runs in the family, apparently – being a pro at total denial. Emptying his glass at a measured pace, he chooses silence until he's drained the last drop.

The announcement that follows doesn't surprise her in the least.

"All this chit-chat has me ready for a real drink."

She doesn't wait for him to just go ahead and ditch her. She rises from her seat in time with him, relieved that she's stable enough to not have to hold onto the chair. Moving her legs could be a totally different matter though.

Kol doesn't elaborate on what exactly he's got planned and doesn't glance back either as he heads for the door. She has enough state of mind to make sure enough money is on the table to cover their binge before following.

The cool night does wonders for her fuzzy head and she feels the temperature drop tingling on her skin. She stops to suck in a lungful of air and relish in how it battles with the heat running through her veins.

Then she focuses on locating her drinking buddy, who has already moved halfway up the street. For someone so laidback in his manner, that guy can definitely generate some speed when he wants to.

"Hey," she calls, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets as she strides after him.

He's turned the corner before she can get out the rest of her sentence and she rolls her eyes at the sky overhead, asking herself in mock-seriousness why she is putting up with this. It feels like chasing after a stubborn teenager and they should be past that level of maturity.

Catching up is easier said than done though with the amount of people moving in the opposite direction to where she's going. When she reaches the next junction, she does need a moment to spot him again.

He's leaning against the wall of another bar on the other side of the road, his back to her.

Again, she has to wait for a group of women, who are clearly in town for a bachelorette party, to pass by before she can make her way across. Those brief seconds are all it takes for the other vampire to have disappeared again when she sets foot on the pavement.

At that point, she considers just dropping the chase and heading off because honestly, what kind of game is he playing here? Is he making her trek after him to just make her feel ridiculous or to stall their conversation?

Seriously, it wasn't that hard a question.

At least the break she takes standing in that spot and widening her awareness gives her a clue as to what he's up to.

There's a very familiar sound that she picks up just ahead, somewhere to the left. One that would be impossible for humans to notice with all the other surrounding noise. She knows it though, almost too well.

It's the tearing of skin under pressure, of wet flesh meeting hungry lips. A real drink.

She could kick herself for not grasping the connotation.

She moves forward at a slower pace now, gradually approaching the wall she saw him leaning against before. The next side street she's expecting is only a couple of paces further along. He wouldn't have gone far with someone in tow.

It's ridiculously easy to stumble into the alley by accident. But the brightness of the nightlife doesn't reach far down the dead end and at first glance, people would be shielded from view. She'll place a wild guess that it leads to the rear exit of the bar, a luxury for employees taking a smoke break.

But for now, there's only Kol in the space with his dark head buried in the crook of someone's neck. She can make out shimmering tights on long legs and fingernails painted light blue, holding onto the vampire's arm where they're up against the wall.

He could fool anyone into thinking they're just a couple going at it in a spot that's on the verge of being public. Kind of how she had imagined her night with Klaus might end. But she can taste the blood in the air and it knocks that fantasy right out of her head.

She's satiated from earlier but bearing witness to this sends her back to another moment.

Stefan standing in the dorms with a bleeding throat on offer. Her practically waving goodbye to any restraint. She feels the vampire features slip through as memory and reality collide, her self-control out of sync with the alcohol in her system.

That last bottle was a bad idea and she should have known better.

Hanging around Kol Mikaelson couldn't have ended any other way but bloody. He's back from a long dry spell as a vampire; self-control is surely not on his agenda. This isn't going to be a quick feed, it'll be a kill.

The smart option would be to walk away while she can but closed she's the distance before she knows it.

He raises his head at her approach. The sight of his smeared chin has her fangs lengthening and her focus slips to the wound. It draws her in immediately, the trail of red sliding down the length of that neck. Her breathing accelerates at the thought of it on her tongue.

The woman is still conscious enough to turn her head and face their way, dark eyes wide with horror. The Original didn't bother compelling her to relax and it shows.

She can see everything in that look; the panicked realized that this is the end. This human knows she's not going to make it out of the monster's grasp tonight.

It's the first time since restoring her humanity that she's confronted with a victim's gaze.

The longer she stares into those eyes, transfixed by what she finds in them, the more her rush of hunger is overtaken by familiar images. Dead Whitmore students. Dead tourists. Dead werewolf. It's hard to ignore them once they're back at the forefront of her mind. They had expressions like hers.

Beside her, Kol shifts where he's standing. Probably wondering why the hell she interrupted him if not to request a taste. It's surprising that he stopped at all on account of her showing up instead of just sending her away to find her own meal.

She backs away hastily before she does something she'll regret.

"Not your type, darling?" he smirks, clearly relishing in having the upper hand again, and breaks into a devilish grin at her silence, "If you're not asking, I'm not sharing."

With that, he closes his free hand around the brunette's throat and digs into the bite again. She whimpers but it's barely audible. Caroline stays frozen, can't turn away from the scene but can't bring herself to watch either.

She could try stepping in to prevent this life from being taken, but she has no doubt the situation would escalate if she tried. Considering how well it worked out the last time she tried to get between him and a target.

He's feeding the malice of the creature she knows is inside of her too. She's known it the entire time, but her humanity-free stint just made it more obvious.

Still, the all too human part feels the eyes of her recent victims back on her again, their phantom touch returning. There's a tremble starting in her fingers that she doesn't need and sure as hell isn't sober enough to deal with.

Those few seconds of indecision on her part is enough for the woman to go limp, collapsing in a spineless heap when Kol releases his hold. She's shockingly pale with eyes still open to betray her final moments.

There's something about it that makes her feel both a deep predatory satisfaction and sick to the stomach at the same time.

The shiver in her hands makes her clench them into tight fists because it's not only that one body she sees on the ground. There's a growing pile of faces, each of them belonging to someone ingrained in her mind for a while now.

She curses her luck. Of course this has to surface again after she's been having a good run. She was so close to getting through a solid episode-free day to make herself feel secure when she got on that plane.

She's aware that the Original is moving in her periphery, wiping the blood away with his sleeve. His mouth is forming words and he's probably making some smart-ass comment about her chickening out of taking a bite.

She doesn't hear more than white noise at this point, all her attention on the corpses that aren't really there. Blank eyes with far too much expression. Messy, gaping, broken necks. It's a familiar scene these days but it hits her just as hard as before.

Her chest constricts even as she tells her subconscious there's nothing that can happen to her. It's not real and she knows that. They don't have any power over her if she doesn't let them. Even though the mental image is just as horrific as it was in reality when she killed each one of them.

Her rational side knows it's not the first time she's witnessed carnage and it won't be the last.

One day she might end up being the cause of it again. There will be more innocents at her feet just as there will the remains of people she considers threats. It could be a terrible accident or vicious intent.

They're all hers to bear. Her burden. Her reminder of what she is and what's she done. The notion has her tremors intensify; she distantly realizes she's drawing blood from her tongue with how hard her teeth are locked.

She doesn't want to feel this damn way anymore. She hates how the thoughts turn her into such a mess without her control over it. How can she not even look at someone feeding without falling into a panic? And she knows how much easier it was to not be feeling at all.

For whatever alcohol-induced reason, Klaus comes to mind then.

 _It's okay, it's okay. You're safe._

His voice is in her ear as though he's standing right behind her. The words she hears were meant for another danger long ago. All the same, they manage to tug at something inside her.

She can close her eyes and try to exhale the tension and screen out the scent of blood.

The darkness makes the face of Kol's victim fade into the background. It wasn't her who sucked the life out of this girl. She didn't feel the life slow down in those veins and didn't force her spirit from her body. She had self-restraint tonight.

She latches onto that positive thought. She doesn't know how but it's the first time since these visions started that she senses she isn't totally collapsing. The knowledge of how she took lives in the last few weeks - she isn't desperately running from that truth.

Maybe it's that she's tried to acknowledge these people in some form, despite the guilt that comes with remembering. No matter how much she's attempted to put on blinders, it hasn't helped. Or it's the fact that she's seen more deaths since then that put all her kills to shame.

Somehow, the growing inner clarity lets her reconnect with the parts of her body that have gone numb. She processes just how hard her nails are digging into her palm, all the colour draining from the skin. She can sense the veins still visible under her red gaze.

Focusing on the hybrid's phantom voice might make her a freaking nutcase but it's helping to listen to his reassurance. It's not as instant as feeding but the result comes close enough. She's finding the strength to slowly unclench her fists and filter through the sensations.

The shame is still there, the fear is still there but losing that crippling power. The strangest sort of comfort spreads through her.

She listens to the accent curling around those syllables, encouraging her. She's breathing through her anxiety best she can. It staves her fresh thirst for a particular kind of blood too. The silence in her mind only returns when the present is finally all that's left again.

Raising her gaze, her field of vision sharpens around the other vampire hovering in front of her. The tightness under her skin gradually fades as she tucks away the monster and resumes her human face.

Kol watches the last of her internal struggle, seeming equal parts quizzical and disturbed by what just happened. She's breathing like she just ran a marathon and can't quite make herself face him yet.

"What the hell was that?"

She has no way of knowing what her lapse in control looked like but apparently extreme enough to put him on edge. No need to let him in on what a complete wreck she was the last couple of times this happened. At least she's still upright – if one ignores how she's slumped against the wall behind her for stability.

"I … need to leave," she presses out, finding her footing again.

He unceremoniously blocks her way before she can make a break like he did earlier.

"You look as if you've just seen a ghost. Care to share?"

"No," she sidesteps him in the narrow space, "I don't."

Two more paces and he's flashed back in front of her to block the alley's exit, pinning her down with nothing but his stare, "Now who isn't answering the damn question?"

She presses her fingers to her temples, feeling the sharpness of a rising headache under her touch. Being interrogated about what just went down sets a sudden wave of exhaustion in motion. She didn't realize how much it takes out of her to have a mental breakdown like that without hybrid blood as a means of recovery.

"Does it really matter?" she pauses in her tracks because there's no getting around him in the limited space when he's refusing to let her, "I had a moment, so sue me. I've drunk a lot."

"And that naturally entails you having a five-minute seizure at the sight of blood," he mocks, his tone making it more than clear that he doesn't believe a single word, "Don't tell me all vampires have such a low tolerance at the other end of the bloodline. That would be a terrible disappointment."

She groans her frustration, attempting to manually push him out of the way. With near to no effect. He might as well be cemented to the ground. There's not much choice but to either start screaming or to play along.

On one condition. He still owes her something as well.

"If you really want an answer, you need to give me one too."

His face falls slightly at that but she keeps her gaze as steady as she can, refusing to be bossed around. Especially not by him. Standing her ground is easier said than done though when all she can really think of doing is to slump onto a soft, cushiony surface for some peace and quiet.

"You first then," he crosses his arms over his chest in a needless show of authority.

Unbelievable alpha male complex in the whole lot of them. She's got no doubt that the fresh blood is going to his head. She knows her inner eye-roll doesn't quite translate to her physical expression but she makes sure to heave a telltale sigh before she obliges.

If an explanation is going to get him out of her way, she'll deal with the comments she's bound to get. Knowing this is going to takes a few more minutes; she seeks out support against the brick wall once again.

"Short version: when I got my humanity back I started having visions of the people I killed. Bad visions, like horror movie stuff. So I haven't fed on humans since then because it really messes me up. There, happy?"

That sinks in for a moment and she steels herself for the sarcasm. But he takes her aback by actually offering a small smile.

She's confused, chalks it up to the fact that she must look totally worse for wear and that he's got just enough compassion to be nice about it.

"Well, that's a relief. My bet was on you being possessed and I wasn't eager to have to explain _that_ to Nik," he jokes but is quick to add, "You're not the first to have that reaction, you know. You're a youngster – I've met vampires who took decades to let go and enjoy the hunt. Though normally the ones who turn off their human side don't ever go back to it. I suppose you Mystic Falls lot are always an exception."

She manages a half-hearted scoff despite the throbbing in her head, "That's reassuring. So, humans in the underworld?"

He looks like he's going to respond with another question about why she's that interested but then seems to think the better of it. Thank god, she's not sure she can get into more details today. The answer she hoped for comes across in him shaking his head.

"None. Wherever it was, it was a pretty exclusive New Orleans witch club over there."

Which, by definition, eliminates it as her mom's final resting place. That almost makes the fatigue ebb out of her body, replaced by warm relief. She surprises herself a little by reaching forward to touch her hand to his arm.

"Thanks."

She doesn't say that it's thanks for not laughing at her. For not countering with another question yet again. Even for making her feel like less of a vampire failure. In another situation, it probably wouldn't mean too much coming from him but she's had a long day.

Her gratitude seems to throw him off kilter, almost like he doesn't quite know how to place it. Or what to do with it for that matter. He gives her a weird look before unwinding his arms and moving aside so she can get past.

Deal's a deal after all.

He clears his throat, waving his hand towards the street, "Off you go then. Be sure to tell my brother that I duly made amends for this afternoon, won't you?"

She doesn't need to be told twice. Almost out of the shadows, she has to pause at the mouth of the alleyway and turn back to him one more time.

"Now that you mention it, I don't really remember an apology," she notes.

He spreads his arms in a sweeping gesture of disbelief, "We had an amicable drink together. What more do you need? Friendship bracelets?"

That gets her cracking another smile because naturally that's the rationalization he would use.

He's Kol Mikaelson who doesn't do apologies any better than the other members of his family. Looks like sharing a bottle or two without threatening to kill one another every five minutes already counts as an apology on his part.

So she moves on without an answer, leaving the Original behind. She doesn't bother asking if he'll come along. She's almost entirely sure he doesn't plan to spend the first night back in the land of the living with his family.

The walk back to the compound is a reminder of how late it's gotten and how she's not had a lot of rest recently. Any ideas about finding another fantastic live show to listen to disappear in favour of grabbing some kind of hot beverage.

She makes it to the old, ornate building without getting lost or having another encounter that ends with her kidnapped or nearly killed. It seems close to impossible, but she succeeds. Either the supernatural all have found better things to do or she really has gained some immunity through Davina.

Walking across the courtyard, she keeps her ears peeled for activity nearby. The sudden quiet is almost overwhelming compared to the onslaught of noise that's ever-present just outside the walls. Maybe it's the protection spells but in here, she could be in another world altogether.

She can't pick up on anything and concludes they are either asleep or roaming the night just as she was. The staff doesn't seem to be around either since not a single stray human crosses her path when she makes her first stop at the kitchen.

She considers a blood bag for a split second before deciding she's seen more than enough of that today. All she wants for the rest of the night is a semblance of normalcy and that happens to include a big mug of peppermint tea.

While the kettle is starting to boil, she lets her head fall back against the fridge and tries to sort through what just happened. She had another episode, obviously enough. But somehow she got herself out of it. Alone.

It could be an exception but it might just as well be a sign that she's improving. She'll keep her fingers crossed that it's the latter. Yeah, she still made use of that fixation on Klaus to pull through but at least it didn't require assaulting him for blood or having to be in close quarters.

This could be a game changer because it means Freya was right in assuming it will improve the more she comes to emotional terms with her actions. Even better, it also supports the theory that she's not going to stay a hybrid-addicted junkie forever. That's definitely going to be a relief for both of them.

Still, she'll have to find a better way to deal with the aftermath of it. Too bad prescription painkillers probably won't do much for vampire aches. Her head hurts less than before but it feels heavy, like she could take a solid full-day nap.

Steam rises from the water as she fills up her mug and inhales the aroma. It reminds her of home and winter evenings spent waiting for her mom to come home when she was younger. She'd sit in the wicker chair her grandma once owned, knees pulled up to her chest to look out the living room window.

They're bittersweet moments from the past. She takes them with her when she picks up the tea and enters one of the corridors leading to the staircase.

Her fingers slide along the three canvases hung over the banister, running over fine brush strokes that make up the faces of Klaus, Elijah and Rebekah. They look like true royalty. It doesn't escape her that the other brothers don't have their portaits here - she'll wager they would have been daggered at the time.

Maybe she wasn't actually too far off in her inkling that Kol doesn't get much gratitude around here. He seemed to be part of the family in Mystic Falls and yet was always separate, a wild card to all of them. At the end of the day, his behaviour could have been a cry for attention from the other siblings.

After all, it took _her_ of all people coming to this city to get him resurrected.

The rest of the family didn't seem too concerned with that task. Not that she should assume. There's a toddler in the mix now and that probably jumbled up any and all plans that existed before.

On that note – she mounts the stairs and turns in the direction where she remembers Hope's room. It can't hurt to peek in and see how she is doing. It's not her place to judge this family's parenting skills but in her experience of babysitting (mostly the neighbours' kids along her whole street) since she was twelve, she's pretty sure she can give some pointers.

The door is slightly ajar; she sees the motion of a flame throwing shadows onto the gold-washed wallpaper. Otherwise it's dark. She makes sure to tread lightly on the hardwood as she slips inside, not wanting to wake anybody.

It looks like the baby is alone with no sign that she's not still alive and kicking. Well, not right in this moment. Now she's lying on her back, fast asleep in the crib. She looks peaceful enough, even if her skin is a bit too flushed. Caroline finds herself crouching beside the bed, watching the rise and fall of the small chest. The breathing is a bit laboured but she is quick to pinpoint the culprit there – a classic case of the sniffles.

Spots of white light dance over the child's smooth skin and she throws a glance up at the mobile gradually rotating above them. Pieces of crystal refract the candlelight from atop the dresser. She could look at them all day, one more beautiful than the other.

If she'd ever had something that entrancing as a baby, she's sure she would never have stopped staring at it. Though it probably would have fuelled her love for valuable jewellery even earlier and her parents might have had a fit.

This close up, she discovers the similarities to the baby girl's parents all over again. It's not just the eyes with those long lashes that are definitely in the hybrid's genes, she's also got his nose. Albeit reddened at the moment but definitely his.

She can't help wondering what she'll look like when she's older, what kind of person she'll become. How much of her mother and father she's got in her. But she doesn't quite get to finish that train of thought.

"The doctor assured us it was a simple cold," comes a voice from behind her and she almost spills hot water all over herself, jumping at the unexpected comment.

"Klaus," she hisses as quietly as possible, her heart caught in her throat, "A little warning!"

He just quirks his eyebrow at her from where he's sat in an armchair on the far side of the room, illuminated only by the streetlight. As she takes him in, she notices he's nursing a glass of what looks suspiciously like the same bourbon she spent half the night drinking with his brother.

Trust the big bad hybrid to need a stiff one after a few hours of taking care of a baby.

It's no wonder she didn't see him when coming in though. She didn't even think to check the side of the room with the big empty bed. Carefully sidestepping the strewn toys near the crib, she comes closer and sinks into the free seat beside his.

He seems much better than when he rushed out of the bar before, the creases of worry are less obvious on his face. Even so, his gaze darts back down to the slumbering toddler every now and again.

"So it's nothing too serious?" she asks after taking a long, much-needed sip of tea.

"In the man's words: nothing that some patience, vitamins and a mountain of handkerchiefs won't be able to amend."

The mental image that invokes makes her chuckle because she can only imagine one particular person in this household keeping an unlimited supply for emergencies. Apparently the Original beside her has the same thought because he catches her eye and returns the bemused look.

"So you've found yourself an ancient doctor who still uses the term 'handkerchief'," she notes, "No, really, that's good news."

"A human one at that," he adds, "Freya insisted it was someone schooled in traditional human medicine instead of healing magic. But he seemed to know what he was doing."

She hums her agreement but doesn't say more, watching as he focuses back on the crib and its inhabitant with utmost concentration. Now that she's paying attention, she finds something new in his expression when he lays eyes on the baby. A shift that she's never noticed for anyone else.

An immediate softening. The look of unconditional adoration. She might not be entirely sober yet but is certain it's one of the most special things she's seen so far when it comes to him showing emotion. Even the hummingbird speech doesn't come close to that rapture.

It's almost intrusive that she get's to sit here like she is part of that story. So, at the very least, she decides against telling him about what happened in the city then. The moment is too pure for her to disturb it. Instead she folds her hands around the mug, using the heat to try and chase away the demons that still remain just under the surface.

There will be another time to talk about those things. Later.

Only that later turns out to be when the candle stumps have burnt out and Klaus eases the empty porcelain from her fingers, her body long since curled up into sleep. 

* * *

_AN: Thanks for sticking with this story up until here and bearing with my slow updates - only a few more chapters to go! This story has actually recently been featured on Klarolinemagazine so I just wanted to give them a shoutout, thanks for mentioning my work and spreading the word about it. As much as I'm happy to forever continue these two in my headspace, it's finally time to start getting excited for their reunion in the final TO season. Until then, hope you keep enjoying this little piece of writing :)_


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